^ 


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m 


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IMAGE  EVALUATiON 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEASTER.N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


«• 


iV 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


ft. 


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Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
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plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmAs  en  commenpant  par  la 
premlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Imprasslon  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  das  symboles  sulvants  apparaftra  sur  la 
dernlAre  Image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  -^  signifle  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  ▼  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmte  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsqua  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cllchA,  II  est  f  ilmA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  sulvants 
lllustrant  la  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

IPMOE  »0  CENTS 


JEAN  BRANT 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


ARCHIBALD  MgALPINE  TAYLeR 


NEW  YORK 
A.   LOVELL  6-   CO. 


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iblications. 


,RIES. 

;  the  choicest  litera- 
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JEAN  GRANT 


H  flovel 


BY 


y 


ARCHIBALD  McALPINE  TAYLOR 


f  I 


NEW  YORK 

A.  LOVELL  &  CO 

1890 


0 


r 


Copyright,  i8go 

Bv  A.  LOVELL  &  CO. 

[All  rigkts  rtstrvtd.] 


t: 


JEAN  GRANT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Some  philosopher  has  said  that  every  life  has 
its  mystery.  Certain  it  is  that  mine  has.  It  is 
strange  that  it  should  be  so,  for  no  life  could  have 
been  surrounded  by  more  modest  circumstances,  or 
less  connected  with  anything  like  romance,  than 
mine.  Born  on  a  little  suburban  farm  of  the  vil- 
lage  of  Seaton,  some  twenty  miles  from  New  York  ; 
accustomed  in  my  earlier  days  to  nothing  but 
severe  and  monotonous  farm  labor ;  unschooled  in 
the  world's  afifairs  till  quite  late  in  life  ;  I  found 
myself  in  the  dawning  years  of  manhood  before 
I  fully  realized  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of 
citizenship  in  this  throbbing  republic.  My  highest 
ambition  was  to  become  a  trader  in  the  little  vil- 
lage hard  by. 

At  this  moment  I  reflect  upon  my  boyhood 
•days,  and  find  nothing  but  a  solitary  blank  save 
the  memory  of  the  loud  Atlantic  which,  as  it 
thundered  against  the  rugged  coast,  awakened  my 


JEAN  GRANT. 


boyish  fancy  to  a  faint  conception  of  the  sublimity 
of  nature's  poetry.  At  the  little  village-school 
where  I  received  my  elementary  education,  I  do 
not  remember  having  become  noted  for  superior 
brilliancy  or  marked  dulness.  It  appears  to  me  I 
was  one  of  those  average  boys  who  give  little 
trouble  to  their  teachers  or  friends,  attract  little 
attention  from  observers,  and  give  small  promise  of 

a  future. 

My  parents  were  respectable,  pious,  and  well- 
to-do  people,  who  had  no  great  ambition  to 
attain  to  wealth  or  distinction,  but  were  satisfied  to 
Jive  a  quiet  life,  and  to  leave  to  me,  their  only 
child,  sufficient  of  this  world's  goods  to  give  me 
what  they  called  a  fair  start  in  life.  Before  my 
nonage  was  over,  they  had  passed,  good  souls, 
to  their  reward.  I  completed  my  education  at 
Cambridge,  and  returned  to  Seaton  at  the  age 
of  twenty-one,  with  the  intention  of  selling  the 
little  farm,  collecting  the  few  thousand  dollars 
which  my  parents  had  left  me,  and  going  to  New 
York  to  invest  my  inheritance  in  some  small  com- 
mercial enterprise. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  my  life  took  an  unac- 
countable turn  which  involved  it  in  perplexity  and 

mystery. 

How  true  it  is  that  we  should  expect  nothing  but 
the  unexpected.  On  a  pretty  little  hill,  midway 
between   our  farm    and   Seaton,   there  stood  the 


JEAN  GRANT. 


I 


the  sublimity 
village-school 
ucation,  I  do 
for  superior 
pears  to  me  I 
lo  give  little 
,  attract  little 
all  promise  of 

us,  and  well- 
ambition  to 
;re  satisfied  to 
ne,  their  only 
,s  to  give  me 
;.  Before  my 
,  good  souls, 
education  at 
>n  at  the  age 
of  selling  the 
lusand  dollars 
going  to  New 
>me  small  com- 

took  an  unac- 
perplexity  and 

:ct  nothing  but 
e  hill,  midway 
lere  stood  the 


largest  mansion  in  the  place.     It  was   owned  and 
dwelt  in  by  a  wealthy  and  accomplished  widow  and 
her  two  lovely  daughters,  Jean  and  Leonore.     Mrs. 
Sherman,  I   remember,  had  dwelt  in  that  old  brick 
mansion  since  the  days  of  my  childhood.     She  had 
been  twice  a  widow.     Her  first  husband,  John  Grant, 
had  left  her,  at  his  death,  this  same  old   mansion 
which   he   called    Dunmore,    an   easy   competence, 
and   a   little    daughter,    Jean,   as    fair    a   creature 
as   one    could   see    anywhere.      Her    second   hus- 
band,    William   Sherman,   a   relative  of   the   great 
General,    bequeathed    to    her    and    Leonore,    his 
daughter,   a   million   or   more,   the  product  of  his 
judicious  investments  in  the  Southern  cotton  fields. 
Mrs.  Sherman    had  the   instincts  as  well  as   the 
manners  of  a  lady  ;  and  so  she  did  not  allow  her  im- 
mense fortune  to  turn  her  head  or  make  her  despise 
her  less  fortunate  neighbors.     On  the  contrary,  her 
beneficence  found  new  and  larger  channels  through 
which   to   flow  every  day.     She  became  a   sort  of 
godmother  to  the  town.     The  poor  were   her  chil- 
dren;  the  orphans  her  wards ;  the  sick  her  care.    She 
superintended     the     education     of    her    attractive 
daughters  with  much  wisdom  ;  so  that  they  grew 
up   without    affectation,   pride    or    arrogance,   tlie 
happy  possessors    of   fortune,    virtue,   accomplish- 
ments  and   beauty.     I   had   gone    to   school   with 
these  girls  when  a  boy ;  I  had  played  with  them  on 
the  green  hill-side;  I    had  escorted  them   to   chil- 


^■■^"-'*^Mtnrrf'if^"rTniiTiilWB-i--«i'ninfTifiii<ni^ 


I' 


6  JEAN  GRANT. 

dren's  parties ;  had  gone  picnicing  with  them  ;  and 
had  been  a  close  companion  to  them  all  through 
my  youth,  never  dreaming  that  in  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  future  my  life  should  be  so  mysteriously 
interwoven  w'th  theirs  as  to  make  the  sorrows  and 
the  joys,  the  tears  and  the  smiles,  the  pain  and 
bliss,  the  life  and  the  death  of  each  to  interdepend 
on  that  of  the  others.  Even  now,  as  I  write  their 
names,  my  memory  conjures  up  a  flood  of  awful 
recollections  which  makes  my  heart  palpitate  and 
my  brain  throb. 

It  seems  like  a  terrible  dream  in  which  the  mind 
passes  swiftly  through  every  phase  of  suffering  and 
enjoyment  which  lie  between  the  extremes  of  para- 
dise and  hell. 

I  have  said  my  early  life  was  quiet  and  retired. 
It  was.  Could  I  have  chosen,  I  would  have  pre- 
ferred such  a  life  all  through.  I  love  retirement, 
and  every  instinct  of  my  nature  shrinks  from  the 
thought  of  notoriety.  No  morbid  desire  for  public- 
ity prompts  me  to  disclose  the  mystery  of  my  life. 
I  am  now  too  old  to  seek  the  paths  of  fame. 
Besides,  those  whose  names  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
associate  with  my  own  in  relating  this  narrative  are 
dearer  to  me  than  my  life,  and  nothing  but  the 
reflection  that  my  fellow-men  may  profit  by  the 
disclosure,  would  tempt  me,  even  at  the  solicitation 
of  those  whom  I  have  mentioned,  to  unseal  a  mystery 
which  I  have  hitherto  guarded  with  sacred  care. 


% 


JEAN  GRANT. 


with  them ;  and 
lem  all  through 
the  vicissitudes 
so  mysteriously 
the  sorrows  and 
:s,  the  pain  and 
1  to  interdepend 
as  I  write  their 
flood  of  awful 
t  palpitate  and 

which  the  mind 

of  suffering  and 

xtremes  of  para- 

iet  and  retired, 
rould  have  pre- 
love  retirement, 
[irinks  from  the 
iesire  for  public- 
'stery  of  my  life, 
paths  of  fame, 
be  compelled  to 
his  narrative  are 
nothing  but  the 
y  profit  by  the 
t  the  solicitation 
unseal  a  mystery 
1  sacred  care. 


It  was  in  the  month  of   June,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
remember,  when  I  returned  to  Seaton  from  college. 
I   had  been  absent  for  several   years,  and  had  got 
my  manners  polished  up  a  little,  and  began  to  have 
some  confidence  in  my  world-wisdom.     I  had  car- 
ried  off   no   laurels    on   commencement   day,   and 
was  in  no  way  encouraged  to  believe  that  my  na- 
tive village  would  proclaim   a   holiday   on  my   re- 
turn.    If  I   had  ever  had  any  conceit  either  in  my 
ability,  or  my  industry,  the  few   years   at  Boston 
effectually  expelled  it.     I  had  never  been  troubled 
with  overconfidence  or  vanity.     Indeed,  I  had  rea- 
son to  believe  that  my  friends  were  sincere  when 
they  advised  me  that  I  had   altogether   too  little 
nerve  to  win  my  way  successfully  in  these  times  of 
rushing  activity,     I  found,  however,  that  my  arrival 
in  the  village  was  considered  quite  an    event.     I 
received   many   congratulations   which  I  took  as  a 
matter  of  course.     I  took  occasion,  during  the  first 
afternoon,  to  call  upon  my  estimable  friend,  Mrs. 
Sherman. 

The  years  which  had  passed,  since  I  called  to 
bid  her  good-by,  had  in  no  way  detracted  from 
her  beauty  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  had  only  woven 
a  few  more  snowy  strands  into  her  hair,  making 
it  a  soft,  silvery  crown  which  well  became  her 
clear  blue  eyes  and  symmetrical  face  whose  every 
lineament  radiantly  beamed  with  cheerfulness  and 
kindness.     She  had  always  taken  an  interest  in  me. 


r 


8 


JEAN  GRANT. 


\ 


i;.. 


She  asked  many  questions  about  my  college-days ; 
and  when  I  had  satisfied  her  on  those  points,  she 
went  on  to  explain  to  me  that  my  return  at  that 
time  had  been  most  fortunate,  that  her  daughters, 
who  had  been  attending  school  at  New  York,  were 
to  return  on  the  morrow ;  that  she  had  taken  the 
liberty,  without  my  consent,  to  invite  her  friends 
to  a  garden-party,  on  the  Friday  evening  follow- 
ing, in  honor  of  the  return  of  her  daughters  and 
myself. 

Now,  I  desire  at  the  outset  to  acknowledge  to  the 
reader  that  my  character,  though  not  aggressive  in 
any  point,  is,  and  will,  I  presume,  always  remain  ex- 
tremely weak  in  one  of  the  very  essentials  of  charac- 
ter— decision.  Indecision  has  been  the  bane  of  my 
life.  I  want  to  see  the  end  from  the  beginning. 
Hamlet-like,  I  can  see  my  duty  clearly,  but  I  reason, 
argue,  hesitate,  postpone,  until  my  heart  sickens  at 
its  own  irresoluteness,  and  the  golden  moment  ripe 
for  action  slips  away,  leaving  me  the  victim  of  regret 
and  despondency. 

This  invitation  was  an  honor  I  had  not  expected  ; 
an  honor  which  my  retiring  nature  would  have  coun- 
selled me  to  avoid ;  but  the  unassuming  frankness  of 
my  hostess,  and  a  growing  curiosity  which  I  felt  to 
meet  her  daughters  again,  and  to  have  an  opportu- 
nity of  observing  what  time  had  been  doing  for  them, 
inspired  me  with  an  unusual  degree  of  courage,  and 
led  me  to  gratefully  acknowledge  and  accept  it. 


y  college-days ; 

)se  points,  she 

return  at  that 

her  daughters, 

lew  York,  were 

had  taken  the 

ite  her   friends 

evening  foUow- 

daughters  and 

lowledge  to  the 
3t  aggressive  in 
I'ays  remain  ex- 
Pitials  of  charac- 
the  bane  of  my 
the  beginning. 
y,  but  I  reason, 
lieart  sickens  at 
;n  moment  ripe 
victim  of  regret 

d  not  expected ; 
ould  have  coun- 
ing  frankness  of 
which  I  felt  to 
ave  an  opportu- 
doing  for  them, 
of  courage,  and 
d  accept  it. 


JEAN  GRANT.  g 

And  now,  long  years  after  that  evening,  I  sit 
and  wonder  whether,  if  I  had  not  accepted  that 
courtesy  and  had  not  yielded  myself  to  a  curiosity 
which  proved  at  once  fatal  and  blissful,  there  should 
ever  have  come  to  that  bright  and  peaceful  fireside 
the  blackness  of  ruin  which  has  since  eclipsed  its 
radiance ;  and  whether  my  life,  which,  from  that 
evening,  has  been  journeying  on  such  stormy  seas, 
would  not  have  moved  on  through  the  unmarred 
solitude  of  its  own  choice,  and  closed  in  the  same 
obscurity  as  that  in  which  it  began. 

I  departed  from  Dunmore,  assuring  Mrs.  Sherman 
that  I  should  look  forward  to  Friday  evening  with 
the  brightest  and  most  joyous  anticipations. 


CHAPTER  II. 


!i     \- 


Friday  evening  soon  arrived.  I  left  my  hotel 
promptly  at  eight  o'clock  for  Dunmore.  I  had  never 
been  so  particular  about  my  dress  as  on  that  even- 
ing. My  step  seemed  lighter  than  ever  before.  I 
was  in  unusual  spirits.  As  I  approached  Dunmore, 
1  perceived  that  the  wide  halls  were  brightly  illumi- 
nated, and  that  the  grounds  were  like  a  constellation 
of  glistering  stars.  Every  tree  was  freighted  with 
lanterns  of  the  most  elegant  designs  which  threw  out 
their  mingling  lights  of  every  conceivable  color  and 
tint.     I  entered  the  gate. 

Jean  and  Leonore  emerged  from  a  group  of  per- 
sons standing  near  a  fountain,  and  came  running 
toward  me,  and  greeted  me  with  their  old-fashioned 
girlish  welcome.  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  two 
more  beautiful  women.  They  led  me  to  their 
mother  and  went  to  receive  the  other  guests. 

An  hour  passed  away.  I  had  met  many  old 
friends,  and  been  introduced  to  many  new  ones, 
and  at  last  found  myself  sauntering  along  the 
outskirts  of  the  grounds,  admiring  the  statuary  and 
drinking  in  the  ravishing  music  which  filled  the 
balmy  air.     For  the   first    time  in  my   life    I   was 


JEAN  GRANT. 


tl 


left  my  hotel 
re.  I  had  never 
[s  on  that  even- 
ever  before.  I 
ched  Dunmore, 
brightly  illumi- 

a  constellation 
i  freighted  with 
vhich  threw  out 
vable  color  and 

.  group  of  per- 
came  running 
ir  old-fashioned 
lever  seen  two 
d  me  to  their 
r  guests, 
met  many  old 
any  new  ones, 
ring  along  the 
le  statuary  and 
hich  filled  the 
my  life   I   was 


dreaming.  Of  what?  Not  of  the  music  or  the 
flowers,  but  of  a  fair  face,— the  face  of  Jean  Grant. 
It  had  set  itself  in  my  heart.  I  could  see  it  and 
nothing  but  it,  in  the  roses,  in  the  chiselled  marble, 
in  the  scented  hedge,  in  everything.  I  could  hear 
the  melody  of  her  voice  and  nothing  else,  in  the 
stirring  music,  in  the  splashing  fountains  and  in  the 
soft  summer  winds  that  whispered  to  the  green 
hedge.  Suddenly,  I  was  confronted  by  Jean  and  a 
gentleman  who  bore  her  on  his  arm,  and  whom 
she  introduced  to  me  as  Colonel  Windsor,  At  their 
request,  I  joined  them.  I  was  amazed  at  the  fond- 
ness  which  this  tall,  black-eyed  soldier  showed  for 
Jean.  I  wondered  who  he  was,  and  at  once  put 
him  down  as  one  of  her  suitors,  feeling,  at  the 
same  time,  a  sensation  akin  to  envy  rising  within 
me. 

I  suddenly  repressed  it.  I  remembered  with 
pain  that  I  could  be  nothing  but  a  friend  to  this 
beautiful  woman.  We  stood  for  a  moment,  when 
Jean,  disengaging  herself,  bowed  politely  to  the 
Colonel,  and  said,  "  I  beg  you  will  excuse  me, 
Colonel  Windsor.  Mr.  Garland  is  a  very  old  friend 
of  mine.  I  have  not  seen  him  for  some  years.  I 
desire  to  enquire  of  him  privately  how  he  has  been 
behaving  himself."  The  Colonel  with  a  stiff 
military  bow,  replied— "  Your  pleasure,  my  dear 
lady,  is  my  will,"  and  strode  off. 

I  offered  her  my  arm.     She  accepted. 


t« 


JEAN  GRANT. 


\ 


I  felt  considerably  elated  by  the  preference  she 
showed  for  my  company,  but  I  accounted  for  it  on 
the  ground  of  old  friendship.  But  I  must  confess 
I  was  glad  to  be  freed  from  the  society  of  Colonel 
Windsor.  I  disliked  him  from  the  beginning.  His 
haughtiness  was  unbearable.  His  manners  were 
a  combination  of  flattery  and  affectation.  The 
most  repulsive  scorn  characterized  his  language.  A 
savage  lustre  sparkled  from  his  unfathomable  black 
eyes.  This  was  my  impression  of  him  ;  and  yet, 
he  was  what  many  would  call  a  handsome  man. 
Tall,  magnificently  proportioned,  erect  and  grace- 
ful, with  large,  sallow  features,  and  long  mustache, 
his  external  appearance  was  as  impressive  as  his 
expression  was  cunning  and  vicious. 

When  I  had  led  Jean  to  a  seat,  I  enquired, 
"Who   is  your  friend.   Colonel    Windsor,   Miss 
Grant  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  with  such  apparent  interest  ?  " 
she  answered. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  only  curious.  Per, 
haps  I  should  not  have  asked." 

"Oh,  certainly.  I  have  no  objection  in  the 
world  to  telling  you  all  I  know  about  him,  which 
indeed,  is  very  little.  Colonel  Windsor  is  a  gentle- 
man with  whom  we  became  acquainted  in  New 
York.  We  were  introduced  to  him  by  a  letter 
from  Professor  Sydney,  who  taught  us  music  and 
dancing,  at  the   College.     He  has  been  extremely 


s  preference  she 
mnted  for  it  on 
t  I  must  confess 
:iety  of  Colonel 
beginning.  His 
manners  were 
ffectation.  The 
lis  language.  A 
athomable  black 
f  him  ;  and  yet, 
handsome  man. 
erect  and  grace- 
long  mustache, 
npressive   as   his 

u 

enquired, 
Windsor,    Miss 

arent  interest  ?  " 

ly  curious.     Per, 

bjection  in  the 
bout  him,  which 
idsor  is  a  gentle- 
uainted  in  New 
liim  by  a  letter 
It  us  music  and 
been  extremely 


/£AAr  GRANT. 


13 


attentive  to  us,  and  begged  us  to  allow  him  to 
escort  us  to  Scaton.  I  think  very  highly  of  him, 
but  Leonore  declares  that  he  is  positively  disagree- 
able. May  I  ask  what  you  think  of  him,  Mr.  Gar- 
land.?  " 

"  Oh,"  I  replied,  "  it  would  never  do  for  me  to 
express  an  opinion  of  your  friend  on  so  short  an 
acquaintance." 

We  drifted  into  other  and,  to  me,  at  least,  more 
agreeable  topics  of  conversation.  It  was  indeed 
a  most  delightful  evening.  The  whole  surround- 
ings were  inspiring.  The  deft  fingers  of  love  had 
opened  the  flood-gates  of  my  young  life  and 
awakened  every  power.'  The  music  swelled  in  loud 
melody,  and  then  sank  into  soft  cadences  which 
blended  with  the  low  whispers  of  the  summer 
breeze,  and  then  the  voice  of  mirthful  conversation 
and  youthful  laughter  could  be  heard  as  an  in- 
terlude.  The  splendid  collections  of  exotic  flowers 
threw  out  their  fragrance.  The  fountains  sent  their 
spray  dancing  in  the  mellow  light. 

Dreamily  conscious  of  all  these,  I  sat  by  the  side 
of  Jean  Grant,  spellbound  by  her  beauty  and  the 
silvery  sweetness  of  her  gentle  words,  till' the 
greater  part  of  the  guests  had  departed. 

I  escorted  Jean  to  the  door,  where  we  stood  in 
conversation  a  few  minutes  longer. 

As  I  left  Dunmore,  I  perceived  that  I  was  the 
last    guest   to   depart.     You    can   imagine,    gentle 


•4 


JEAN  GRANT. 


\ 


reader,  what  transport  filled  my  breast ;  for  it  is  not 
beyond  possibility  that  you  have  been  in  love. 

I  walked  with  rapid  strides  towards  my  hotel. 
The  night  was  extremely  dark.  As  I  passed  a 
clump  of  trees  which  flanked  the  side  of  a  small 
stream  which  ran  along  the  foot  of  Dunmore,  and 
across  which  a  small  narrow  bridge  extended,  I  was 
unexpectedly  awakened  from  my  reverie  by  a  rude 
voice  which  called  out—"  I  would  speak  a  word 
with  you,  sir!" 

"  Good  evening,  sir,"  I  said  with  some  degree  of 
agitation,  as  I  faintly  descried  the  form  of  a  man 
standing  on  the  narrow  bridge  in  front  of  me. 

•'  How  extremely  polite  you  can  be  when  polite- 
ness becomes  your  defence." 

"  Politeness  is  always  the  defence  of  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  It  is  oftener  the  pretext  of  a  coward." 
"  I  do  not  understand  your  insinuations." 
•*  Since  your  understanding  is  so  deficient,  I  shall 
not  further  insinuate.     I  say  you  are  a  coward,  a 
base,  deceitful  coward." 

"  I  demand  of  you,  sir,"  my  anger  overcoming 
my  first  excitement,  "  who  you  are,  and  what  right 
you  have  to  accost  me  in  this  manner.  Stand  aside." 
I  essayed  to  pass  by  him,  but  he  sprang  in  front 
of  me,  and  to  my  horror,  touched  me  with  the  point 
of  his  sword  which  he  held  in  front  of  me  to  pre- 
vent my  further  progress. 


i«ii0mmM 


IMJMliMIJIM 


;t ;  for  it  is  not 
n  in  love, 
irds  my  hotel. 
\.s   I   passed  a 
side  of  a  small 

Dunmore,  and 
xtended,  I  was 
verie  by  a  rude 

speak  a  word 

some  degree  of 
form  of  a  man 
nt  of  me. 
be  when  polite- 

ce  of  a  gentle- 

fard." 
ations." 

deficient,  I  shall 
are  a  coward,  a 

ger  overcoming 
and  what  right 

•.  Stand  aside." 
sprang  in  front 

e  with  the  point 

t  of  me  to  pre- 


y£AJV  CKANT. 


'5 


"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Who  are  you  ?  What—" 
"  Halt !  Make  no  rash  motion.  Be  careful  what 
words  you  use.  My  blood  is  not  in  temper  for 
trifling.  I  will  tell  you  who  I  am.  My  name  is 
Colonel  Windsor,  You  met  me  this  evening  at 
Dunmore.  Without  provocation  you  subjected  me 
to  a  vulgar,  unjustifiable,  cowardly  insult.  I 
demand  reparation,  or  by  heaven,  you  shall  not 
escape  my  sword  !  " 

"  I,  insult  you  .?  Impossible.  A  gentleman  will 
take  no  insult,  where  none  is  intended.  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honor  as  a  gentleman,  I  had  no  inten- 
tion of  injuring  your  feelings  by  anything  I  did  or 
said  during  the  evening.  If  you  will  relate  the 
circumstance — " 
"You  lie!" 

"You  are  not  using  the  language  of  a  gentle- 
man." 

"Take  care,  you  unbred  rustic!  if  you  repeat 
that  phrase,  I  shall  give  you  a  taste  of  cold  steel 
with  all  my  heart." 

"I  repeat,  you  are  not  using  the  language  of 
a  gentleman.  I  asked  you  to  relate  the  circum- 
stance to  which  you  refer.  If  you  show  me  that 
any  word  or  action  of  mine  might  have  been  con- 
strued as  an  affront,  I  shall  apologize  to  you, 
though  I  declare  again  I  had  no  such  intention  ; 
more  than  this  one  gentleman  cannot  demand  of 
another." 


!' 


t€ 


JEAN  GRANT. 


"  I  am  not  your  schoolmaster,  you  impertinent, 
unmannered  churl.  It  is  not  my  business  to  point 
out  your  stupid  blunders.  When  I  was  walking 
with  Miss  Grant  you  unceremoniously  thrust  your- 
self  upon  our  privacy.  I  repeat,  it  was  a  gross 
piece  of  insolence.     I  demand  an  apology." 

"You  charge  me  falsely.  I  joined  your  company 
at  Miss  Grant's  request.  She  evidently  did  not 
consider  it  an  affront,  when  she  chose  to  spend  the 
rest  of  the  evening  in  my  company.  Your  charge 
is  unmanly  and  false.  I  shall  not  so  far  give  color 
to  your  groundless  imputation,  as  to  offer  the 
slightest  apology." 

"Coward!       Liar!"    he     hissed     through     his 
clenched  teeth  and  lifted  his  sword  to  strike. 

My  anger  rose  to  a  white  heat,  but  I  controlled 
it.     My  position  was  perilous.     My  first  impression 
of  Colonel  Windsor  was  correct.     He  was  a  bully. 
My  courage  rose  with  my  anger.     I    took  in  the 
whole   situation  in   a  flash.     He  had  not  been  in- 
sulted.    He  had  simply   been  outrivalled,  though 
not  through  any  conscious  effort   of  mine.     It  was 
jealousy  which  supplied   his   unreasoning  passion. 
I  remembered  this,  I  remembered  the  looks  and  the 
words  of  Jean  Grant,  and  the  thought  flashed  upon 
my  mind  that  to  perish  for  her  would  be  a  worthy 
sacrifice.      I  advanced  a  pace  with  determination  to 
meet  the  falling  blow,  and  shouted—"  Strike,  cow- 
ard, I  am  unarmed !  " 


11  imncrtinent, 
iiness  to  point 
;  was  walking 
y  thrust  your- 
t  was  a  gross 
logy." 

your  company 
cntly  did  not 
e  to  spend  the 

Your  charge 
)  far  give  color 

to    offer    the 

through     his 
a  strike, 
ut  I  controlled 
irst  impression 
e  was  a  bully. 
I    took  in  the 
id  not  been  in- 
ivalled,  though 
'  mine.     It  was 
5oning  passion, 
e  looks  and  the 
ht  flashed  upon 
Id  be  a  worthy 
etermination  to 
— *♦  Strike,  cow- 


/EA^V  GRANT. 


'; 


I  had  no  alternative.     I  could    not  retreat,  and 
indeed  was  in    no   mood   for   retreating.     As    the 
blow    descended    I    advanced    on    my   antagonist, 
received  the  thrust  on  my  left  shoulder,  and  grap- 
pled with  him.     He  dropped  his  sword  and  engaged 
with  me.     For  a  few   moments,  we  struggled  with 
fatal  determination.     He  was   enormously   strong. 
He  was  much  the  larger  and  heavier  man,  but  I  had 
some  advantage  in  my  hold  on  him.     Watching  my 
opportunity,  I  raised  him  by  dint  of  sheer  strength, 
off    the    ground,    and    hurled    him,   with    terrible 
force,  to  earth  where  I  held  him  for  a  minute  or 
more  as  in  a  vise.     I  had  no  desire  to  injure  him. 
My  anger  was  fully  gratified.     I  felt  the  effect  of 
the  blow  I  had  received.     My  left  arm  began  to 
give  out,  and  I  knew  I  could  not  much  longer  hold 
my  quarry  pinned  to  the  earth.     But  what  was  I  to 
do?    To  let  him  rise  was  but  to  renew  my  danger. 
To  disable  him  would  be  cowardly,  to   run   from 
him  more  so.      The  gallant  Colonel  decided  the 
point.     He  put  forth  all  his  strength  to  dislodge 
me.     My  disabled  arm  failed  me.      He  pitched  me 
into  mid-air  and  rose  to  his  feet.     Scarcely  had  I 
time  to  regain  my  feet,  when  the  flash  and  report 
of  a  revolver  awakened  me  to  a  sense  of  new  dan- 
ger.    I   felt  a  stinging,  burning  pain    in  my   right 
side.     I  leaped  forward  to  encounter  my  opponent. 
I  staggered— reeled— fell— I  knew  no  more. 


t.-- 


. 


\. 


CHAPTER  III.  ' 

When  consciousness  returned  I  found  myself  at 
Dunmorc,  stretched  at  full  length  on  an  invalid's 
couch.  For  a  time  my  ideas  were  confused.  I 
perceived  that  Jean  Grant  was  sitting  by  my  bed- 
side, reading.  By  slow  degrees  I  recalled  the  events 
of  that  changeful  night  on  which  the  mishap  befell 

me. 

As  I  lay  there  silent,  thinking,  wondering  at  my 
surroundings  Jean's  eyes  fell  upon  me,  and  an  ex- 
pression of   warmth  and  gladness  shone   from  her 

face. 

*•  I  am  very  glad,  Mr.  Garland,  to  see  you  so 
much  better." 

"Better!     Have  1  been  ill.  Miss  Grant?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have  been  ill  for  some  days. 
But  you  are  now  out  of  danger." 

"What  was  the  matter  with  me?  How  did  I 
come  here?  Am  I  dreaming,  or  am  I  mad?  My 
head  feels  strange.     Please  tell  me  all,  Miss  Grant." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Garland,  let  me  tell  you  all ;  and  then 
you  must  not  give  your  mind  any  more  trouble 
about  the  matter  till  you  are  stronger.  You  re- 
member the  evening  of  the  party  ?  " 


>nd  myself  at 
1   an  invalid's 

confused.  I 
g  by  my  bed- 
led  the  events 

mishap  befell 

idering  at  my 
Tie,  and  an  ex- 
lone   from  her 

0  see   you  so 

rant?" 

r  some    days. 

>     How  did    I 

1  I  mad?  My 
1,  Miss  Grant." 
1  all ;  and  then 

more  trouble 
[iger.     You  rc- 


fF.AN  ahANT. 


'9 


"Quite  well." 

"  You  remember  bidding  me  good-night  in  front 
of  the  conservatory  door?" 

"Ah,  I  shall  not  soon  forget  that,  Miss  Grant! 
I  remember  it  distinctly." 

"  Well,  you  had  only  been  gone  a  few  minutes 
when  Colonel  Windsor —  "  . 

"Colonel  Windsor!  By  heaven,  I  remember  it 
all ! " 

"Hush,  hush!  Mr.  Garland.  You  must  not 
allow  yourself  to  become  so  excited.  It  might 
cause  a  serious  relapse  which  would  deprive  me  of 
my  reputation  as  a  nurse." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Grant,  I  beseech  you  to  forgive 
me  for  having  made  use  of  such  language.  My 
emotions  quite  overcame  me.  Pray  proceed  ;  1  am 
deeply  interested  in  what  you  are  saying." 

"  As  I  was  saying,  a  few  minutes  after  you  left 
Dunmore,  on  Friday  evening  last.  Colonel  Wind- 
sor,  who  was  our  guest,  returned  from  having 
escorted  some  ladies  home,  and  shortly  after  his 
return  the  household  retired  for  the  night.  An 
hour  or  so  later  we  were  all  awakened  by  Mr. 
George  Wentworth,  who  bore  you  in  his  arms  to 
the  door,  and  informed  us  that  he  had  found  you 
lying  on  the  road-side  in  a  dying  condition.  Since 
then  you  have  lain  at  the  point  of  death,  Dr.  Kent 
not  having  until  this  morning  given  any  hopes  of 
your  recovery." 


r 


20 


/EAAT  GRANT. 


"  And  have  you  been  my  nurse  during  that  time 
—how  long  did  you  say?" 

"  About  four  days.    Yes,  I  have  sat  here  nearly  all 

the  time,  and  you  have  not  deigned  to  look  at  me." 

"Ah,  my  dear  lady,  how  unkind  I  have  been! 

I  must  have  been  extremely  ill  when  your  presence 

did  not  restore  me." 

"Thank  you,  I  appreciate  such  a  neat  compli- 
ment.    But  that  is  not  the  question.    You  must  tell 
us  what  happened  you  ;  for  the  theories  as  to  the 
cause  of  your  misfortune  are  about  as  numerous  as  « 
the  inhabitants  of  Seaton.     Some  say  you   w^re 
robbed  ;  some  that  you  had  taken  too  much  old 
wine   at  Dunmore;  some  that  you  went  there  by 
appointment  to  duel  with  a  rival ;  some  that  you 
fell  madly  in  love  with  a  pretty  girl,  and  having 
been   rejected,   made  an   unsuccessful   attempt  at 
suicide  ;  others  assert  that  you  were  laboring  under 
temporary  insanity.     Now   in   the  midst  of  such 
conflicting  views  every  one  would  be  interested  m 
the  truth." 

"  Well,  Miss  Grant,  I  think  the  best  way  for  me 
to  explain  it  will  be  to  borrow  the  language  of  the 
parable  and  say :  As  I  journeyed  towards  Seaton 
I  fell  among  thieves  who  robbed  me  and  beat  me, 
and  left  me  lying  by  the  wayside ;  and  in  you  I 
have  found  the  good  Samaritan  who  has  dressed 
my  wounds  and  cared  for  me.  I  shall  relate  the 
particulars  later  on." 


iring  that  time 

:  here  nearly  all 
to  look  at  me." 

I  have  been ! 

your  presence 

a  neat  com  pi  i- 
You  must  tell 
ories  as  to  the 
as  numerous  as  < 
say  you   w^re 
too  much  old 
went  there  by 
some  that  you 
[irl,  and  having 
iful   attempt  at 
:  laboring  under 
midst  of  such 
36  interested  in 

best  way  for  me 
language  of  the 
towards  Seaton 
ne  and  beat  me, 
;  and  in  you  I 
vho  has  dressed 
shall  relate  the 


JEAN  GRANT. 


21 


■  "Ah,  just  so.  That  seemed  to  me  the  most 
probable  cause  of  your  misadventure.  What  a  ter- 
rible  conflict  you  had  to  go  through!  I  hope  that 
in  addition  to  your  painful  injuries  you  have  not 
suffered  loss.  But  I  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand 
times.  I  am  exciting  your  mind  too  much  by 
allowing  my  curiosity  to  overcome  my  sense  of 
duty.  You  must  not  speak  another  word  ;  no,  not 
so  much  as  a  syllable.  You  must  try  to  sleep — you 
want  rest.  Dr.  Kent  will  deprive  me  of  my  case 
if  I  am  not  more  careful.  In  a  few  days,  when 
you  will  be  strong  and  well,  we  shall  talk  over 
these  matters.  You  shall  not  leave  us  until 
you  are  entirely  yourself  again.  I  shall  ask 
you  to  imagine  that  it  is  leap  year  so  that 
it  shall  be  my  privilege  to  make  all  the  invitations 
and  proposals.  I  shall  invite  you  to  go  dridng 
with  me  each  morning.  I  shall  swing  you  in  the 
hammock  in  the  shade  of  the  lilac  trees  at  noon- 
day. In  the  evening  I  shall  escort  you  through  the 
grounds,  and  hear  you  giving  such  interesting  de- 
scriptions of  the  trees  and  shrubs  and  blossoms. 
Oh,  won't  it  be  jolly !  But  I  must  stop.  I  am  such 
a  talking-machine  when  I  get  started.  What  would 
Dr.  Kent  say  if  he  heard  me  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Jean — it  does  not  seem  natural  to  call  you 
whom  I  have  known  so  long  and  so  well  Miss  Grant 
— you  are  the  same  good  little  girl  that  you  always 
were.     You  have  not  changed.     Do  not  be  afraid  of 


1: 


:l, 


22 


JEAN  GRANT. 


saying  too  much  to  me.  True,  I  am  very  weak. 
This  shoulder  of  mine  is,  I  fear,  badly  wrecked.  I 
must  not  speak  much,  but  your  words  are  delight- 
ful. They  are  light  to  my  eyes,  music  to  my  ears, 
hope  to  my  heart,  and  health  to  my  body.  Oh, 
Jean,  how  unworthy  I  feel  of  your  kindness  !  " 

She  made  no  reply,  but  her  pressure  of  my  hand 
proved  an  effectual  remonstrance.  The  conversa- 
tion ceased,  and  I  was  soon  a  citizen  of  the  uni- 
versal democracy  of  sleep. 

My  convalescence  was  long,  but  not  tedious. 
Jean  fulfilled  her  promise  to  the  letter.  June,  July, 
and  August  passed  like  dreams,  the  cooling  breath 
of  the  salt  Atlantic,  and  Jean's  love,  making  even 
these  sultry  months  grateful. 

At  last  my  disabled  shoulder  ha^  healed,  my 
nerves  had  recovered  their  accustomed  tone,  my  mind 
was  in  a  better  condition  than  ever  before.  I  felt 
strong,  ambitious,  and  eager  to  engage  in  the  world's 
affairs.  But  how  did  I  stand  with  the  Shermans  ?  I 
feared  I  had  imposed  upon  their  kindness.  I  came 
to  Dunmore  the  invited  guest  of  an  evening,  stand- 
ing on  terms  of  friendship  merely  with  the  family. 
Uninvited,  I  had  prolonged  my  visit  for  months 
and  had  profited  by  my  stay  by  becoming  en- 
gaged to  Jean  Grant.  Our  engagement  was  not  one 
appropriately  gotten  up  for  a  novel.  It  was  one  of 
the  most  old-fashioned,  prosy,  but  withal  sensible 
transactions  you  can  imagine.     It  was  like  crossing 


m 


,  aWM  WWM**'^WM 


am  very  weak, 
lly  wrecked.  I 
ds  are  delight- 
sic  to  my  ears, 
ny  body.  Oh, 
ndness ! " 
ire  of  my  hand 
The  conversa- 
en  of  the  uni- 

t  not  tedious. 
:r.  June,  July, 
cooling  breath 
e,  making  even 

a^  healed,  my 
dtone,  my  mind 

before.  I  felt 
;e  in  the  world's 
e  Shermans  ?  I 
idness.  I  came 
evening,  stand- 
:ith  the  family, 
isit  for  months 
becoming  en- 
ent  was  not  one 
It  was  one  of 

withal  sensible 
vas  like  crossing 


JEAN  GRANT. 


M% 


the  equator,  for  I  cannot  even  tell  the  day  or  the 
hour  when  it  took  place.  At  first  Jean  and  I  had 
much  to  say  about  the  past,  about  the  old  school- 
days with  their  romps  and  merriments  and  adven- 
tures and  escapades.  Then  the  present  began  to 
have  considerable  interest  for  us,  and  for  a  time  we 
lived  solely  for  the  present.  Our  happiness  was 
synonymous  with  being  together.  Separation  meant 
wretchedness. 

At  this  period  I  strongly  suspected  myself  of  be- 
ing a  fool ;  and  I  sometimes  indulged  my  observation 
the  honor  of  believing  that  Jean,  too,  was  a  little  too 
fond.  But  I  argued,  as  we  were  both  in  the  same 
condition  of  mind,  we  were  fitted  only  to  enjoy  each 
other. 

This  was  th^  second  stage  in  the  incipient  comedy. 
Comedy  did  I  say?  Would  to  God  I  could  say  so 
with  truth  !  Comedy  is  a  drama  ending  in  marriage. 
Tragedy,  I  should  say,  for  our  drama  ended  in 
— but  I  am  anticipating. 

Forgive  me,  reader,  for  introducing  the  thought 
of  a  tragedy  into  an  engagement  scene.  If  you 
have  observed  the  workings  of  your  own  mind,  you 
will  have  become  aware  that  you  have  often  been 
strongly  inclined  to  laughter  in  the  midst  of  your 
tears.  Joy  and  grief  are  sisters,  and  the  emotions 
of  one  touch  the  other.     Enough  of  this. 

We  had  done  with  the  past.  We  had  exhausted 
the    pleasures  of  the    present,  and    the  future  be- 


i 


24 


gan 


JEAX  GRANT. 

its    siren     allurements    to    attract    us 


with 
thither. 

When  a  young  couple  begin  to  converse  of  the 
future  they  are  treading  on  dangerous  grounds. 
Let  them  beware.  There  will  soon  be  only  one  of 
them.  It  is  always  an  open  question  which  one  of 
them  it  will  be. 

In  the  long  evenings  we  sat  in  the  conservatory, 
or  out  in  the  lawn  chairs,  side  by  side,  and  talked  of 
our  future  prospects.  We  loved  each  other ;  and 
love  soon  teaches  its  children  to  understand  its 
inarticulate,  yet  eloquent  language.  A  love  that 
can  be  all  expressed  in  words  is  a  beggarly  quality. 
A  love  to  whose  confirmation  words  are  indispen- 
sable is  either  a  false  love  or  has  a  false  reciprocal. 

I  never  proposed  to  Jean.  Did  ^he  propose  to 
me  ?  Certainly  not.  We  had  no  proposal.  When 
we  had  talked  about  everything  else,  we  chose  for  a 
topic  the  various  kinds  of  homes  we  had  met  with, 
their  peculiar  forms  of  discipline  and  government.  Of 
course  we  found  fault  with  them  all.  None  of  them 
were  perfect.  None  of  them  at  all  approached  to 
our  ideal  ot  a  home. 

"Wait,"  said  I,  "  my  darling  Jean,"  embracing 
her  warmly  and  pressing  my  first  kiss  upon  her 
lovely  lips,  "  wait  till  you  see  our  home.  It  will  be 
a  perfect  ideal,  will  it  not,  Jean  i> "  "  Yes,  Arthur 
dear,"  she  replied,  responding  to  my  embrace,  and 
we  were  engaged. 


h 
tl 
ir 

Sv 

q 

sc 

gl 

w 

p* 

th 
oi 

P< 
h< 

cc 

he 

fa 

di 

ar 

ti< 

ar 

w< 

ci< 


% 


» i.aiiKiitrmitaHIBtrifiiiiWig- 


to    attract    us 

converse  of  the 
serous   grounds. 

I  be  only  one  of 
on  which  one  of 

lie  conservatory, 
de,  and  talked  of 
ach  other ;  and 
understand  its 
.  A  love  that 
>eggarly  quality, 
is  are  indispen- 
alse  reciprocal. 
i  she  propose  to 
)roposal.  When 
e,  we  chose  for  a 
ve  had  met  with, 
government.  Of 
.     None  of  them 

II  approached  to 

ean,"  embracing 
t  kiss  upon  her 
lome.  It  will  be 
'  "Yes,  Arthur 
my  embrace,  and 


/£AA'  GRANT. 


25 


During  the  remainder  of  my  stay  at  Dunmore  I 
heard  nothing  further  of  Colonel  Windsor,  save  that 
the  family  had  received  a  letter  from  him  announc- 
ing his  return  to  New  York.  It  came  to  be  quite  a 
serious  problem  for  me  whether  or  not  I  should  ac- 
quaint Jean  with  the  name  of  my  midnight  assailant. 

On  the  one  hand  it  was  obvious  that  Colonel  Wind- 
sor was  merely  an  unscrupulous  adventurer  who  was 
grossly  abusing  the  confidence  and  friendship  of  this 
worthy  family,  and  that  as  I  was  the  only  one  in 
possession  of  such  facts  as  would  prove  him  such  to 
them,  there  devolved  an  obligation  on  me  as  a  friend 
of  the  family  to  divulge  these  facts  to  them. 

On  the  other  hand  it  was  an  unpleasant  task  to 
perform.  Whatever  foundation  Colonel  Windsor 
had  for  his  b^ief  it  was  quite  apparent  that  he 
considered  himself  a  prominent  candidate  for  Jean's 
hand.  The  disclosure  would  be  a  painful  one  for  the 
family,  and  especially  for  Jean.  The  facts,  if  once 
discovered,  would  reach  the  public's  ever  open  ear, 
and  I  should  have  to  suffer  the  needless  mortifica- 
tion of  being  discussed  as  Colonel  Windsor's  rival, 
and  a  vanquished  duellist.  Besides,  I  had  already 
won  Jean's  love.  What  more  could  I  desire  ?  I  de- 
cided to  let  well  enough  alone. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Advanced  autumn  found  me  ready  to  terminate 
what  I  had  intended  as  a  month's  visit,  but  what  had 
really  proved  a  six  months'  stay  at  Seaton.  The  ex- 
periences which  I  encountered  during  those  months 
were  as  varied  as  they  were  unexpected.  I  had 
wound  up  my  father's  affairs,  converted  the  lit 
tie  farm  into  money,  and  knew  the  extent  of  my 
fortunes  to  a  certainty,  which,  I  may  add,  amounted 
only  to  something  over  five  thousand  dollars.  I  had 
come ;  I  had  seen  ;  I  had  been  conquered.  I,  the 
hitherto  cold,  stern,  unimpressionable  student  who 
had  passed  my  college  days  without  an  adventure, 
had,  within  a  few  months,  fallen  in  love,  check- 
mated a  rival,  had  met  my  opponent  armed  with 
sword  and  pistol.  Alone,  unarmed,  and  taken  by 
surprise,  I  had  overcome  my  antagonist,  wrenching 
his  weapons  from  his  hands  and  hurling  him  by 
sheer  strength  and  courage  prostrate  to  the  earth; 
had  thereupon  received  a  bullet  wound  from  his 
revolver,  and  been  carried  in  a  dying  condition 
to  the  home  of  my  adorable  Jean  to  be  nursed 
back  to  life,  liberty  and  love  by  her  tenderness, 
solicitude  and  devotion.   I  had  availed  myself  of  my 


rr 

ir 
li: 
re 

P' 

le 

m 

I 

st 

hs 

sa 

lo 

he 

loi 

a 

en 

ral 

Cii 
coi 
tec 
to 
me 
spc 
eac 
cos 
1 
cor 


lady  to  terminate 
isit,  but  what  had 
Seaton.  The  ex- 
ng  those  months 
ixpected.  I  had 
onverted  the  Ht 
:he  extent  of  my 
ly  add,  amounted 
id  dollars.  I  had 
jnquered.  I,  the 
ible  student  who 
out  an  adventure, 
I  in  love,  check- 
inent  armed  with 
d,  and  taken  by 
gonist,  wrenching 

hurling  him  by 
rate  to  the  earth  ; 
wound   from   his 

dying  condition 
an  to  be  nursed 
T  her  tenderness, 
iled  myself  of  my 


JEAJV  G/iAATT.  2~ 

misfortune  by  wooing  and  winning  the  one  woman 
in  all  the  world  whose  favor  was  essential  to  my 
life  and  happiness.  This  was  romance  indeed.  I 
realized,  as  few  have  had  occasion  to  do,  Shakes- 
peare's apothegm  that  "  All  the  world's  a  stage." 

I  was  not  fully  decided  where  I  should  go  on 
leaving  Seaton,  or  in  what  pursuit  I  should  enlist 
my  energies,  but  I  determined,  now  that  Jean  and 
I  were  engaged,  t.  make  a  bold  and  determined 
strike  for  fortune.  My  new  relation  in  life  en- 
hanced  the  measure  of  my  responsibility,  but  at  the 
same  time  I  felt,  actuated  by  the  potency  of  Jean's 
love,  and  inspired  by  the  exalted  hope  of  making 
her  my  wife  as  soon  as  I  could  do  so,  that  I  was  no 
longer  my  old  self,  but  a  new  man,  ushered  into 
a  newer  and  higher  sphere  of  existence,  with  lib- 
erated capacities,  enlarged  ambitions,  and  a  more 
rational  notion  of  men  and  things. 

After  sojourning  for  a  fortnight  in  New  York 
City  without  having  found  any  suitable  business 
connections,  and  chafing  impatiently  under  the 
tedious  discipline  of  fortune,  I  suddenly  resolved 
to  cross  the  continent.  Another  fortnight  found 
me  among  the  thousand  thousands  of  adventurers, 
speculators,  and  fugitives  from  justice  who  jostled 
each  other  in  the  race  for  gold,  on  the  Pacific 
coast. 

I   had   but  two  correspondents.      From  Jean    I  ^ 
continued  to  receive  more   and  more   affectionate 


u 


JEAN  GRANT. 


reassurances  of  her  constancy  and  fidelity,  trom 
George  Wentworth  I  was  the  occasional  recipient 
of  very  interesting  and  newsy  letters.  Ever  since 
Wentworth  had  found  me  stretched  insensible  by 
the  wayside,  and  carried  me  to  Dunmore,  our 
friendship  had  been  increasing.  .  ,  ,  .„ 

He  had  visited  me  daily  during  my  painful  illness, 
though  I  often  suspected  that  his  attentions  were 
prompted  more  by  his  desire  to  see  Leonore  than 

to  comfort  me. 

But  I  thought  none  the  less  of  Wentworth  for 
this.     We    grew   to   be   confidential    friends,    and, 
indeed,  I  felt    that  he  would  in  every  way  be  a 
worthy  brother-in-law  should  he  and  Leonore  arrive 
at  an  understanding  to  that  effect.     But  Leonore 
had  given  very  slender  encouragement  to  his  suit. 
His  letters   to  me,  however,  indicated  that  he  was 
gradually  overcoming  her  aversion  to  limbs  of  the 
law.     He   had  abandoned  some  of  his  idle  habits, 
and  devoted   himself  more  rigorously  to  the  doc 
trines  of  Blackstone,  and  had  astonished  every  one 
by  making  a  clean    sweep  of  first-class  honors  at 
his  examination. 

The  incidents  thus  briefly  related  extended  over 
a  considerable  portion  of  time. 

The  busy,  crowded,  frenzied  western  life  afforded 
me  enjoyment  and  attraction  which  I  had  failed  to 
realize  among  the  more  cultured  communities  of 
the  East. 


t 
c 

si 

f( 
p 

h 
si 
ai 

S( 

tt 

tc 

dl 

ui 
cl 

b: 

sa 
b< 

m 
m 
th 
de 
ad 
isl 
ba 
m' 
de 
th 


.^.^a^tmiia^^Ksism 


»illlMfifilMli  :-- 


i  fidelity.  From 
asional  recipient 
;ers.  Ever  since 
bed  insensible  by 
0    Dunmore,  our 

ny  painful  illness, 
is  attentions  were 
;ee  Leonore  than 

,f  Wentworth  for 
tial    friends,   and, 
every  way  be  a 
id  Leonore  arrive 
ct.     But  Leonore 
jement  to  his  suit, 
cated  that  he  was 
»n  to  limbs  of  the 
of  his  idle  habits, 
fously  to  the  doc- 
onished  every  one 
rst-class  honors  at 

ted  extended  over 

estern  life  afforded 
ich  I  had  failed  to 
:d  communities  of 


JEAJV  GRANT. 


29 


Here  were  conditions  of  society  unparalleled  in 
the  history  of  the  world  ;    robust    youth    and  de- 
crepit   age  vicing  with  each  other;  abject  misery 
striving  for  the  prize    against  sublime  happiness; 
fortune    tourneying    with    fate    for    the    diadem; 
poverty  triumphing    over  wealth;  labor    for    once 
holding  capital  by  the  throat ;  crime  glorying  in   its 
shame,  and  become  the  arbiter  of  justice ;  liberty 
and    licentiousness  synonymous ;  smiles  and   tears, 
sorrow  and   joy,   pain,  misfortune,    lust   and   liber- 
tinism become  boon  companions,  now  creeping  in 
tattered   rags,  now   gorgeous  with   cloth   of   gold; 
distinctions   of   birth    unheard    of;   social   degrees 
unknown;    representatives    of    every    nation     and 
clime,  of  every  color,  creed  and  class,  all  actuated 
by  the   same   sordid    motive,  all  worshipping   the 
same  god— Gold ;  all  kneeling  in  devout  adoration 
before  the  same  altar — Self. 

I  soon  became  involved  in  this  majestic  stream  of 
medley  and  contradiction.  On,  on,  on,  it  swept 
me  with  its  rushing  tide.  At  first,  its  novelty  was 
the  only  attraction.  Then  its  study  afforded  me 
delight.  We  grow  to  resemble  what  we  study  and 
admire.  Soon  I  felt  myself  impelled  by  the  fever- 
ish thirst  for  gold.  Every  other  thought  was 
banished,  save  the  memory  of  her  I  was  to  make 
my  wife.  Her  memory,  while  it  quickened  my 
desire  for  the  rapid  accumulation  of  wealth,  had  also 
the  efifect  of  recalling  moments  of  truer  happiness, 


.«a»»w>r«at»v 


30 


JEAN  GRANT. 


and  of  restraining  me  from  much  of  the  ferocious 
and  barbarous  pleasures  which  characterized  the 
primitive  society  in  which  I  moved. 

In  my  pursuit  of  weahh  I  was  eminently  success- 
ful. True,  I  had  not  discovered  a  gold  mine  and 
become  a  millionaire  in  a  day.  But  by  judicious 
speculation,  I  had  in  less  than  two  years,  multiplied 
my  capital  many  times.  '■■ 

I  began  to  feci  that  I  had  had  enough  of  pioneer 
life  in  the  West,  and  that  the  time  had  come  when 
I  should  return  to  my  native  town  to  reclaim  the 
heart  from  which  I  had  volutnarily  absented  myself. 
For  a  considerable  time  my  mind  was  in  a  state  of 
indecisi  regarding  this  point.  A  couple  of  letters 
which  I  received,  however,  determined  my  course. 

George  Wentworth  wrote  me  such  a  long  and 
glowing  epistle,  in  which  he  announced,  with  all  the 
poetic  effusiveness  of  a  heart  victorious  in  love,  his 
engagement  to  Leonore  Sherman  that  I  almost 
envied  him  his  aappiness.  He  urged  me  to  return 
to  Seaton,  and  taunted  me  good-naturedly  with 
being  unfaithful  to  my  affianced. 

By  the  next  mail,  I  received  from  Jean  the 
following  letter: — 

"  DuNMORE,  Seaton,  October  ist, . 

"My  Dear  Arthur:— 

"  I  received  your  last  letter  with  a  joyous  welcome. 
Like  all  your  letters  it  was  just  perfect  excepting  in 
one  particular !     You  will  not  tell  me  when  you  are 


I  of  the  ferocious 
characterized  the 
d. 

eminently  success- 

I  a  gold  mine  and 

But  by  judicious 

0  years,  multiplied 

enough  of  pioneer 
ne  had  come  when 
\'n  to  reclaim  the 
y  absented  myself. 

was  in  a  state  of 
A  couple  of  letters 
(lined  my  course. 

such  a  long  and 
unced,  with  all  the 
orious  in  love,  his 
an  that  I  almost 
urged  me  to  return 
lod-naturedly   with 

d   from    Jean    the 


ON,  October  ist, . 

1  a  joyous  welcome, 
lerfect  excepting  in 
1  me  when  you  are 


JEAN  GKANT. 


31 


coming  to  me.     Oh.  Arthur,  just   think  of  it!  it  is 
nearly    two    years    since    we   parted.     Since    then, 
though  I  have  had  everything  which    used  to  make 
me  happy,  I  have   not  tasted  perfect  happiness.     I 
have  never  doubted  your  love,  but  my  heart  craves 
your  presence.     What  a  strange  passion  h  love  •  it 
makes  us  fools  and  philosopiiers  in  turn.     Satisfied 
It  IS  heaven  ;  yearning  for  its  object,  it  is  sweetened 
misery.     Arthur  dear,  I  have,  like  a  good  little  girl 
tried  to  be  patient,  but   I  cannot  live  without  you 
any  longer.     Do   come  like  a  darling.     You  have 
been  so  successful  that  we  can  now  be  married  and 
settle  down  very  comfortably.     And  only  think  of  it 
how   happy,   happy,   thrice   happy   we   should  be 
when  you,  mstead  of  associating  with  those  awful 
barbarians  of  whom  you    write  to  me,   should  be 
caressing    your  own  little   wife ;    and  I  instead  of 
sighing    and    moping,  and    scolding,    and    gettine 
old    and  ugly,  should  be  exerting  my  every  power 
to   please   you   and    make   you   as   happy   as    the 
day  is  long.     But  I  must  not  write  any  more  like 
this,   I  am  now  laughing    and  crying  at  the  same 
time.     Should  the  words  of   this  letter  be  marred 
by  my    tears,  remember,    my   dearest,  they   were 
shed  for  you.     Leonore  and  George  are   engaged, 
rhey  are  the  best  mated  pair  of  spoons  you  ever 
saw.     They  call  me  the  old  maid,  but  wait  till  you 
come  home  and  we'll  show  them  what  courtship 
should   be    when  properly  conducted.      George   is 
turning  out  a  brilliant  success  at  the  bar. 

"  jSIow  darling,  my  letter  is  already  too  long.  I 
shall  have  no  happiness  till  you  write  me  saying 
you  are  conriing  home.  If  an  extra  allowance  of 
kisses  will  bring  you  to  me  any  earlier,  please 
accept  them  from  your  own  loving 

"JEAN." 


32 


JEAN  UKAN r. 


Reader,  you  have  guessed  what  followed. 

I  gathered  my  shekels  together,  bade  my  old 
companions  a  not  very  sorrowful  adieu,  and  started 
on  my  homeward  journey. 


followed. 

t;r,  bade    my    old 

idicii,  and  started 


CHAPTER   V. 

On  my  return  preparations  for  our  marriage  were 
at  once  actively  begun.     Tlie  happiest  months  of 
my  life  I  spent  in  Seaton  awaiting  the  advent  of 
my  wedding  day.     I  called  on  Jean  each  evening, 
when  we  both  reported  progress,  and  tlien  the  ac- 
tive committee  of  two  would  adjourn  to  meet  and 
report  again  on  the  following  evening.     Only  those 
who  have  been  the  fortunate  participants  in  such 
an  affair  have  any  idea  of  its  unspeakable  delights. 
I  spent  a  part  of  each  day  in  the  company  of 
George  Wentworth,  who  was  now  the  junior  partner 
of  the  law  firm  "  Mitchell  &  Wentwortii."     I  was 
pleased  to  learn   from   day  to  day  of  his*  increasing 
popularity.     His  fortune  was  in  its  heyday.     Every- 
thing  he   undertook  seemed  to  prosper.      He  won 
nearly  all   his  cases.     The  press,  which   makes  or 
unmakes  every  public  man,  commented  most  favor- 
ably  upon  his  actions.     Leonore,  and  indeed  every 
one  else,  was  proud  of  him. 

We  had  rooms  at  the  same  hotel ;  and  we  com- 
monly  met  for  a  little  while  before  retiring  for  the 
night,  to  smoke  a  cigar  and  have  a  chat.  During 
these  conferences  we  often   compared   notes,    and 


34 


JEAN  GRANT. 


spoke  to  each  other,  in  confidential  terms,  of  our 
ambitions  and  prospects  for  the  future.  It  was 
Wentworth's  intention  to  work  hard  at  his  profes- 
sion for  two  or  three  years,  by  which  time  he  hoped 
his  professional  standing  would  enable  him  to  enter 
one  of  the  large  New  York  law  firms  ;  then  he  pur- 
posed marrying  Leonore. 

Rapidly  the  days  flew  past.     The  happiness  of 
each  day  was  heightened   by  the   anticipations  of 
the  next.    My  life  was  in  its  spring-time.   Wherever 
my    footsteps    turned    bright    fresh    blossoms    of 
beauty  and  fragrance  sprang  up,  making  my  exist- 
ence more  ideal  than  real.     There  was  nothing  to 
mar  or  interrupt  the  even  flow  of  my  happiness.     I 
was  young;  I   had   never  known  a  day's  sickness 
save  the  occasion  when  the  treacherous  bullet  of 
Colonel  Windsor's  revolver  had  left  me  an  invalid 
at   Dunmore.      Looking   back  on   that  episode    1 
could  not  regret  its  occurrence.     What  had  it  cost 
me?    A  slight  discomfiture,  an  occasional  pang,  a 
paltry  notoriety,  nothing  !     What  had  it  gained  for 
me  ?    The  pleasure  of  basking  in  Jean's  presence 
for  three  months,  of  winning  the  fairest  woman  my 
eyes  had  ever  beheld,  of  having  her  promise  to  be 
my  wife,  and  of  having  the  marital  alliance  all  but 
consummated  from  which  I  should   derive  earth's 
one  true  bliss— everything  ! 

The  days   flew  rapidly,  but  yet   too   slowly  for 
my  impetuous    heart.     With    inexpressible    impa- 


JEAA'  GRANT. 


35 


;ial  terms,  of  our 
;  future.  It  was 
ird  at  his  profes- 
ich  time  he  hoped 
able  him  to  enter 
:ms  ;  then  he  pur- 

The  happiness  of 
;  anticipations  of 
g-time.  Wherever 
esh    blossoms    of 

making  my  exist- 
;re  was  nothing  to 
■  my  happiness.  I 
n  a  day's  sickness 
acherous  bullet  of 
left  me  an  invalid 
)n   that  episode    I 

What  had  it  cost 
occasional  pang,  a 
t  had  it  gained  for 
in  Jean's  presence 
;  fairest  woman  my 

her  promise  to  be 
ital  alliance  all  but 
)uld   derive  earth's 

yret   too   slowly  for 
iiexpressible    impa- 


tience I  longed  for  the  arrival  of  the  auspicious 
mornmg  which  should  empower  me  to  clasp  Jean 
Grant  in  my  arms  and  feel  and  know  that  she  was 
mine  forever  ;  to  be  able  to  call  her  my  wife,  and  to 
avail  myself  of  our  new  relationship  to  show  Jean, 
in  ten  thousand  ways,  how  dearly,  how  immeasura- 
bly, I  loved  her,  and  lived  for  her,  for  her  only. 

I  chid  my  heart  for  its  impatience  and  bade  it  be 
still.     The  day  of  days  was  almost  at  hand.     But 
what  if  it  had  been  distant  years  instead  of  days ' 
Did  I  doubt  Jean?    Was  her  heart  not  steadfast? 
Did  her  affection  seem  to  waver?     Had  I  a  formid- 
able rival  ?     I    asked  myself  these    questions   and 
answered  them    with  something  like  presumption. 
No,  I  was  sole  monarch  of  Jean's  heart,  sole  arbiter 
of  her  wishes,  sole  centre  of  her  affections.     Rivals 
many  I  doubtless  had  had,  but  not  one  of  them 
had  received  the  slightest  encouragement,  not  one 
of  them  had  dislodged  me  from    the  impregnable 
tower  of  Jean  Grant's  heart. 

Had  I  suspicions  or  doubts?  No.  My  confi- 
dence  was  unbounded,  I  had  more  faith  in  Jean 
than  in  all  the  world  beside ;  more  than  in  myself. 
To  my  mind  she  represented  the  virtue,  constancy, 
fidelity,  and  beauty  of  her  sex. 

"I   will    be    patient,"    I    said    to    my   anxious 
heart.     "  Only  three  days  more.     Fly,  happy  hours  ! 
Thrice  happy  moment,  haste  !  I  will  be  patient." 
Such  were  the  thoughts  I  was  revolving  in  my 


*>»«iMSS»i#»«i«i«j«|ilB.-, 


36 


JEAN  GRANT. 


mind  as  I  walked  briskly  from  Dunmorc  to  my 
hotel  on  that  Sunday  night  in  June.  Wo  would  be 
married  on  the  following  Wednesday  morning. 

The  night  was  peerless.  The  full  moon,  sur- 
rounded by  her  galaxy  of  silvery  satellites,  rode 
proudly  across  the  dome  of  the  heavens  which 
seemed  more  beautifully  blue  than  ever  before. 
The  trees  by  the  wayside,  with  their  dewy  leaves 
quivering  in  the  mellow  moonlight,  and  the 
gentlest  of  autumn  breezes  that  fanned  my  fervid 
brow,  and  the  glimmering  church-towers,  seemed  to 
share  the  gladness  of  my  heart,  while  the  low,  sub- 
dued voice  of  the  mighty  ocean,  rising  and  falling 
in  whispering  cadences,  lent  an  indescribable  charm 
to  the  silent  hour. 

I  had  scarcely  reached  my  room  when  Went- 
worth  entered.  The  unusual  expression  of  his  face 
indicated  that  he  had  something  of  importance  to 
relate  to  me. 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  the  latest  joke,  Gar- 

land  ?  "  he  began. 

"  I  would,"  I  replied.  vv  . 

"Are  you  quite  certain  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  am.     Why  do  you  ask  me  that  ?  " 

"Because  I  do  not  like  to  hurt  a  friend's  feel- 
ings."    ''        . 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing  very  serious.  Have  a  cigar?  It 
will  stiffen  your  nerves  a  little." 


3unmorc  to  my 
.  Wo  would  be 
y  morning, 
full  moon,  sur- 
•  satellites,  rode 
heavens  which 
lan  ever  before, 
leir  dewy  leaves 
ilight,  and  the 
anned  my  fervid 
owers,  seemed  to 
jle  the  low,  sub- 
ising  and  falling 
iescribable  charm 

om  when  Went- 
ession  of  his  face 
of  importance  to 

latest  joke,  Gar- 


i  ask  me  that?" 
rt  a  friend's  feel- 


lave  a  cigar?     It 


JEAN  GRANT. 


n 


"  Is  there  going  to  be  a  second  flood  ?  Have  the 
lost  tribes  been  discovered  ?  Or  has  Franklin  been 
found  sitting  on  the  North  Pole?"   I  asked. 

"  None  of  these.  Something  touching  your  own 
particular  self." 

"  All  right,  let  us  have  it.  I  know  you  lawyers 
have  a  special  faculty  for  beating  around  the  bush. 
But  pray  tell  me  this  wonderful  joke,  or  I  shall  lose 
my  relish  for  it." 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,  Garland,  about  a  very  eccen- 
tric client  I  had  yesterday." 

"Client?"  - 

"  Yes." 

"  And*vhat  has  that  got  to  do  with  me,  pray?  !' 

"  Wait  and  see." 

"Well,  go  on." 

"  I  was  sitting  in  my  office  yesterday,  when  a  tall, 
dark,  powerful-looking  man  entered  and  inquired 
for  Mr.  Mitchell." 

'"  He  is  in  the  city,'  I  replied. 

"  'Ah,  indeed;  then  you  are  his  clerk,  I  suppose,' 
he  said,  handing  me  his  card. 

"'Yes,  I  help  him  a  little  sometimes,'  I  an- 
swered, struck  by  the  fellow's  downright  cheek. 

"  '  Have  you  been  with  Mr.  Mitchell  long?' 

"  '  Several  years.' 

"  '  Then  you  are  pretty  well  acquainted  with  his 
business.* 

" 'Yes,  somewhat.' 


38 


JEAN  GRANT. 


" '  Perhaps  you  can  give  me  the  information  I 
desire  ? ' 

"  '  I  shall  be  pleased  to  do  so  if  it  is  in  my 
power.' 

"  '  Thank  you.  Then  look  at  my  card,  it  will 
help  you  to  understand  the  nature  of  my  busi- 
ness.' " 

"  I  did  as  directed,  and  found  the  card  read, 
'  Henry  Marlin,  Inspector  of  Trust  Estates,  Wash- 
ington, D.  C 

"  '  You  see  my  business  is  of  a  somewhat  delicate 
nature.' 

" '  I  should  think  it  would  be.  I  was  not  aware 
that  the  United  States  Government  had  tnstituted 
such  an  ofifice.' 

"'Just  so.  Just  so.  It  is  a  new  office.  I  am 
the  first  officer  of  the  kind  appointed.  It  is  in  the 
interest  of  society  that  some  check  should  be 
placed  upon  the  administration  of  estates  by 
trustees,  and  that  the  Governm.ent  should  be  placed 
in  possession  of  statistics  relating  to  trust  estates. 
I  am  led  to  believe  that  Mr.  Mitchell,  owing  no 
doubt  to  his  well-known  integrity  and  ability  as 
a  financier,  has  the  management  of  several  estates.' 

"  '  Yes,  I  believe  so.' 

" '  I  presume  you  will  be  able,  with  tolerable 
accuracy,  to  describe  them.' 

"  '  I  fear  not.  That  is  a  part  of  Mr.  Mitchell's 
business  with  which  I  am  very  slightly  acquainted.' 


le   information  I 

0  if  it  is  in  my 

my  card,  it   will 
;ure   of   my  busi- 

1  the   card    read, 
;t  Estates,  Wash- 

omewhat  delicate 

I  was  not  aware 
nt  had  tnstituted 

lew  office.  I  am 
ted.  It  is  in  the 
check  should  be 
of  estates  by 
should  be  placed 
I  to  trust  estates, 
itchell,  owing  no 
y  and  ability  as 
f  several  estates.' 

e,  with   tolerable 

of  Mr.  Mitchell's 
^htly  acquainted.' 


/eajV  grant. 


39 


"'Don't  misunderstand  me.     I  do  not  want  all 
the    particulars,    but    simply    the    amount    of   eacli 
estate,  names  of  the  beneficiaries,  and  of  the  trus 
tees.'" 

"  I  began  to  be  suspicious  of  my  visitor,  some- 
thing in  his  manner  suggested  insincerity.  His  face 
was  of  such  a  strange  make-up  that  it  excited  my 
keenest  scrutiny,  not  to  say  antipathy.  I  decided 
to  act  with  caution.  My  curiosity,  however,  would 
not  allow  me  to  abbreviate  our  dialogue  ;  I  would 
try  to  fathom  him".  As  I  peered  into  his  face,  I  half 
suspected  I  had  met  him  somewhere  before  ;  I  tried 
to  recall  the  occasion  in  vain  ;  I  would  lead  him  on 
and  put  his  honor  to  the  test. 

"  '  I  regret  to  say,  Mr.  Marlin,'  I  continued,  '  I 
am  unable  to  furnish  you  with  the  required  infor- 
mation, but  if  there  is  any  particular  estate  of  more 
interest  to  you  than  the  others,  I  might  be  able  to 
impart  to  you  some  facts  concerning  it.' 

"  '  Thank  you  very  much.  Mr.  Mitchell  is  trustee 
for  the  two  very  valuable  estates  known  as  the 
Grant  and  Sherman  properties.' 

"  '  I  believe  so.' 

•* '  Very  well.  Let  us  begin  with  them.  Give  me 
their  respective  values,  names  of  legatees,  and  the 
amounts  of  the  dififerent  legacies.' 

"  '  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  disclose  these  facts.' 

"  '  Why  not  ?  ' 

"' Because  I  cannot.' 


ii,  [jluiiKiMiXltOO;  ri^yiiMife: 


40 


JEAN  GRANT. 


" '  Are  not  Mr.  Mitchell's  books  and  the  various 
wills  in  the  vault?  ' 

"  '  They  are.'  * 

"  '  Then  why  not  refer  to  them  ?  ' 

"  '  I  have  no  authority  to  do  so.' 

"  'Come  now,  my  good  fellow, don't  be  obstinate. 
I  have  an  urgent  business  appointment  in  New 
York  this  evening  and  you  can  do  me  a  great  favor. 
Here  is  enough  to  repay  you  for  any  risk  you  may 
run  in  letting  me  read  the  wills.' 

" '  He  handed  me  a  fifty  dollar  note.' 

•'  '  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  bribes,  I  re- 
plied.' 

'"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  Don't  mention  such  a 
thing.  My  business,  as  an  officer  of  the  American 
Government  neither  requires  nor  tolerates  such 
practices.'  "  [. 

"  My  suspicions  were  quickened.  I  now  felt  cer- 
tain that  my  client  was  an  adventurer  or  a  mounte- 
bank. I  resolved  to  use  every  means  to  get  at  the 
bottom  of  whatever  nefarious  scheme  he  was  ma- 
nipulating. I  resolved  even  to  accept  a  bribe,  if  by 
doing  so,  I  could  entrap  my  wily  interviewer.  I  led 
him  on.  He  bid  higher  and  higher.  I  pretended  to 
weaken.  Observing  this,  he  pressed  me  with  height- 
ened zeal.  He  kept  narrowing  his  requests,  until, 
finally,  his  requisition  resolved  itself  into,  '  What 
are  the  respective  fortunes  of  Jean  Grant  and 
Leonore  Sherman  ?  '     At  last  I  was  able  to  compre- 


s  and  the  various 


on't  be  obstinate. 

lintment    in   New 

me  a  great  favor. 

any  risk  you  may 

lote.' 

iking  bribes,  I  re- 

't  mention  such  a 

of  the  American 

r    tolerates    such 

.  I  now  felt  cer- 
urer  or  a  mounte- 
;ans  to  get  at  the 
leme  he  was  ma- 
:ept  a  bribe,  if  by 
nterviewer.  I  led 
r.  I  pretended  to 
;d  me  with  height- 
liis  requests,  until, 
tself  into,  'What 
Jean  Grant  and 
IS  able  to  compre- 


JEAN  GRANT. 


41 


hend  his  mission.  Ke  was  a  disguised  fortune- 
hunter.  I  would  accept  his  bribe,  and  as  a  practi- 
cal joke,  interchange  the  young  ladies'  fortunes.  I 
did  so.  I  placed  Jean's  fortune  at  the  modest  sum 
of  a  million,  and  Leohore's  at  a  small  annuity  for 
pin-money.  You  see,  Garland,  I  had  an  eye  to  bus- 
iness in  misleading  this  villain.  I  did  not  want  to 
encourage  rivalry  for  Leonore's  hand,  and  I  thought 
what  a  charming  spectacle  it  would  be  to  see  this 
grovelling  wretch  competing  with  you  for  the 
woman  who  is  tobe  your  wife  in  three  days.  Ha ! 
ha !  We  shall  have  rare  sport  this  week,  and  now, 
Garland,  who  do  you  suppose  this  distinguished 
gentleman  turns  out  to  be.?" 

"  Do  you  know  ?  Have  j/tf«  discovered  his  name  ? 
Is  he  still  in  Seaton  ?  "  I  shouted,  rising  to  my  feet 
in  a  terrible  passion.  My  mind,  at  that  moment, 
reverted  fiercely  to  Colonel  Windsor.  All  the 
crowded  incidents  of  my  short  acquaintance  with 
him  came  rushing  upon  my  mind,  over-riding  all 
control,  and  throwing  me  into  a  perfect  frenzy. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  I  thought  I  could  do  it.  I 
thought  I  could  work  you  into  a  state  of  ebullition. 
Sit  down.  Garland.  Keep  cool,,  Wait  till  you  hear 
my  story  through.  I  followed  this  Goverment  ofifi- 
cial  to  his  hotel.  He  went  to  his  room  to  prepare 
for  dinner.  I  had  only  to  enter  the  dining-room 
under  pretence  of  taking  dinner  to  solve  the 
shallow    mystery.      It    was    not    long    before    he 


42 


JEAN  GRANT. 


entered  the  room  and  took  his  place  at  the  table. 
He  was  no  longer  the  statuesque  official,  but  a  tall, 
black-eyed,  polished  and  complimentary  gentleman 
whom  I  remember  having  met  at  Dunmore  at  a 
garden  party  on  the  very  night  on  which  I  found 
you  lying  like  a  dead  man  by  the  wayside." 

"  By  heavens !  I  knew  it !  It  is  he !  The 
unmitigated  villain!  Where  is  his  hotel?  I  have 
vowed  before  Heaven  that  if  ever  I  met  Colonel 
Windsor  again  I  should  beat  him  within  an  inch  of 
his  life.  I  shall  not  sleep  to-night  till  I  shall  have 
fulfilled  my  vow." 

"  Great  heavens.  Garland,  have  you  lost  your 
reason?  This  is  getting  serious.  I  meant  to  tell 
you  a  good  joke,  over  which  we  should  both  enjoy 
a  hearty  laugh,  but  I  am  alarmed.  Your  choler  is 
up.  You  are  climbing  up  the  walls.  You  are  mak- 
ing the  chairs  dance  polkas.  You  are  a  hero  in 
high  tragedy,  leaving  Trving  in  the  distance.  I 
shall  have  to  arm  myself.  That's  right,  Garland, 
sit  down  and  let  us  discuss  the  situation.  We  must 
act  prudently.  This  man,  bad  as  he  is,  is  a  friend 
of  Mrs.  Sherman  and  her  daughters.  Without 
doubt  he  will  be  their  guest  to-morrow.  For  the 
present,  at  least,  we  must  not  disclose  his  trickery 
at  Dunmore." 

"  George  Wentworth,  I  adjure  you  not  to  speak 
of  Colonel  Windsor  to  me.  I  abhor  his  name.  If 
he  were  here  now  I  should  kill  him.     You    have 


:e  at  the  table, 
flficiai,  but  a  tall, 
ntary  gentleman 
:  Dunmore  at  a 
1  which  I  found 
ayside." 

t  is  he!  The 
i  hotel?  I  have 
I  met  Colonel 
k'ithin  an  inch  of 
till  I  shall  have 

you  lost  your 
I  meant  to  tell 
ould  both  enjoy 

Your  choler  is 
;.  You  are  mak- 
u  are  a  hero  in 
the  distance.  I 
>  right,  Garland, 
ation.  We  must 
he  is,  is  a  friend 
iters.  Without 
orrow.  For  the 
close  his  trickery 

y^ou  not  to  speak 
or  his  name.  If 
him.    You    have 


JEA\  OHAXr. 


43 


told  me  to-night  enough  to  brand  his  name  with 
infamy.  Sit  down  and  listen,  and  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  know  about  him  ;  and  then,  if  you  can  har- 
bor in  your  bosom  an  atom  of  respect  for  Colonel 
Windsor,  our  friendship  is  at  an  end." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

If  Wentworth's  narrative  was  a  surprise  to  me. 
what  I  disclosed  during  the  next  few  minutes  was 
to  him  nothing  less  than  a  revelation. 
.  For  several  years  I  had  kept  the  secret  of  m}- 
encounter  on  the  bridge  locked  in  my  own  breast. 
Indeed  I  had  no  incentive  for  discovering  it.  My 
affection  and  esteem  for  Mrs.  Sherman  and  her 
daughters  forbade  me  reflecting  on  the  conduct  of 
Colonel  Windsor,  who,  doubtless  through  some  mis- 
representation on  the  part  of  himself  or  his  friends, 
yet  without  any  fault  of  theirs,  had  been  their 
guest.  I  had  never  before  mentioned  it  to  any  one, 
and  now  that  I  was  about  to  be  married  to  Jean, 
the  unconscious  object  of  our  rivalry,  I  felt  that  I 
had  gained  such  a  decided  advantage  over  my  com- 
petitor that  I  could  afford  to  obliterate  his  name 
from  my  memory,  feeling  certain  that  I  should 
some  morning  have  my  slumbering  vengeance  grati- 
fied by  reading  of  his  having  been  sentenced  for 
life,  or  hanged. 

But  once  more  we  were  to  meet.  Only  a  few 
rods  from  me,  he  slept  that  night.  He  had  dared 
to  violate  Jean's  name  by  taking  it  on  his  false  lips. 


i>  '  - 


JEAX  GRANT. 


45 


a  surprise  to  mc. 

few  minutes  was 
ion. 

the  secret  of  m)' 
in  my  own  breast, 
scovering  it.  My 
Sherman  and  her 
on  the  conduct  of 
through  some  mis- 
self  or  his  friends, 
?,  had  been  their 
aned  it  to  any  one, 

married  to  Jean, 
valry,  I  felt  that  I 
tage  over  my  com- 
bliterate  his  name 
\\\\  that  I  should 
ig  vengeance  grati- 
)een   sentenced  for 

neet.  Only  a  few 
ht.  He  had  dared 
it  on  his  false  lips. 


lie  had  been  estimating  the  incalculable  value  of 
my  darling's  worth,  her  love,  her  beauty,  her  noble 
womanliness,  as  a  dervise  appraises  his  camel's  bur- 
den, namely  by  a  money  value. 

I  am  not  a  man  of  quick  passions,  but  all  my 
nature  rose  in  arms  against  this  villain's  intru- 
sion. As  I  related  to  the  minutest  details  my 
encounter  with  Colonel  Windsor  on  that  all  but 
fatal  occasion  when  we  met  on  the  bridge,  my 
imagination  inordinately  warmed  by  the  terrible 
fire  of  my  anger;  as  I  dilated  on  his  treachery,  his 
cowardice,  his  unprovoked  insolence,  and  his  mur- 
derous  intentions,  George  Wentworth  rose  from 
his  seat  and  stalked  backwards  and  forwards  across 
the  room  like  a  caged  lion,  his  anger  rising  higher 
and  higher  as  I  unfolded  one  incident  after  another 
w.  h  a  particularity  begotten  of  fierce  hatred. 

The  tale  was  told.  We  were  both  at  white  heat. 
Our  plans  were  formulated.  Colonel  Windsor  must 
not  be  a  guest  at  Dunmore.  The  family  must  be 
apprised  of  the  base  deceitful  character  who  sought 
once  more  to  invade  the  sacred  precincts  of  their 
home. 

But  how  ?  Who  would  bear  the  ungracious  mes- 
sage? Under  what  pretext  could  the  subject  be 
broached?  Wentworth  volunteered.  He  would  tell 
Leonore,  and  ask  her  to  explain  all  to  Jean. 

Wentworth  bade  me  good-night  and  went  to  his 
room. 


4<5 


JEAi\'  OKANT. 


After  pacing  my  room  for  several  hours,  I  retired. 
My   rest  was   brief ;    my   dreams   eventful.     They 
were  too   ridiculous  to   be   related.     Ouce   more    I 
engatjed  my  fierce  antagonist  on  the  little  bridge. 
His   baleful    sword    flashed    in   the  dead    darkness. 
Fear  seized  on  my  every  nerve.      I  stood  motionless. 
Suddenly   Jean  stood  by  my  side;  encouraged  by 
her    presence,    I    rushed    on   my  combatant.     We 
clenched;  we   grappled    with   deadly  energy.     We 
struggled,  we  fell,  my  opponent  beneath.     My  knee 
was  on  his  chest,  my  hand  clutched  his  throat.     I 
was  p-essing  the  life  out  of  his  breast.     In  my  in- 
sane passion  I  smiled  to  hear  him  gasp  for  breath, 
and  to  see  the  horrible  distortions  of  strangulation 
overspreading   his  blackening  features.     Suddenly, 
with  superhuman  strength,  he  pitched  me  into  mid- 
air ;  then,  methought,  he  hurled  me  over  the  bridge. 
My  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  black,  yawning  abyss 
that  awaited  me.     It  seemed  miles  to  the  bottom. 
Down  !  down  !  down  !  to  certain   death  I  went.     I 
experienced  the  agonies  of  ten  deaths.     My  whole 
life   flashed   before   my  mind.     I  read  it  all  in' an 
instant.     I  remembered  Jean,  my  loved,  my  own, 
left  behind.     Left  behind?    Great  God !  left  with  a 
villain,  my  murderer.     I   forgot  my  own  suffering 
and  death  in  this  awful  thought.     My  voice  rose 
clear  and  loud  to  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  that  out 
of  His  infinite  compassion,  he  might  save  my  loved 
one   from  the   wiles   of  this   guilty  wretch   whose 


1  hours,  I  retired. 

eventful.  They 
.  Once  more  I 
the  little  bridge. 
;  dead  darkness, 
stood  motionless. 
;  encouraged  by 
combatant.  We 
dly  energy.  We 
neath.  My  knee 
cd  his  throat.  I 
reast.     In  my  in- 

gasp  for  breath, 
s  of  strangulation 
tures.  Suddenly, 
:hed  me  into  mid- 
e  over  the  bridge. 
:k,  yawning  abyss 
:s  to  the  bottom. 

death  I  went.  I 
jaths.     My  whole 

read  it  all  in*  an 
Y  loved,  my  own, 
:  God  !  left  with  a 
my  own  suffering 
t.  My  voice  rose 
he  world,  that  out 
^ht  save  my  loved 
Ity  wretch   whose 


JF.A.V  GNA.WT, 


4; 


liands  were  reeking  with  my  blood  ;  and  with  the 
voice  of  supplication  echoing  from  my  trembling 
lips,  I  awoke  and  knew  that  it  was  a  dream. 

Soon    I   dozed   again.     This   time    I    was   trans- 
ported   in   my   dream    to   my   old    haunts   on    the 
Pacific   coast.     Once   more    I   was    surrounded    by 
the   rough,  out-spoken  miners  and   speculators      I 
heard   them  relate  their  blood-curdling  adventures 
and  escapes.     Once  more    I  heard   the   clamorous 
multitude   mutter  and    shout   and   shriek,   "Gold' 
gold!    give    us    gold!"     Once    more  I    heard   the 
thunderous    tramps   of    motley   millions    gathered 
from  every  land  marching  on   under  the  glorious 
banner  of   progress,    and   yet    having  their  hearts 
filled  with  the  basest  desires  and  lusts  which  ever 
prompted  human  actions. 

I  stood  watching  the  majestic  ocean,  its  waves 
transmuted  by  the  splendor  of  the  setting  sun  into 
molten  billows  of  burnished  gold.  Its  mighty  voice 
was  silenced  by  the  din  of  the  feverish  throng. 

Behold !  it  is  no  longer  a  dream  but  the  magic  of 
a  veritable  Golden  Touch.  The  mighty  rocks,  and 
the  winding  shore,  and  the  green  fie'ds,  and  the 
peerless  pines,  and  the  river  that  leaped  into  the 
ocean  at  my  feet,  and  the  matchless  expanse  of 
water  stretching  far  beyond  the  reach  of  my  view 
had  suddenly  become  gold.  ' 

"Gold!  gold!  gold!"  I  shouted  at   the  top  of 
my    voice.     At    last    I   had    found    it.     The    goal 


48 


JEAX  GKAMT. 


of    human    desire!     the    reward     of     human     in- 

dustry ! 

One  thing  remained  to  complete  my  happniess, 
Jean  Grant,  my  love,  my  darling,  my  wife ! 

Yes;  she  would  soon  be  my  wife;  I  would 
write  for  her  at  once  and  tell  her  all  about  my  beau- 
tiful Golden  City,  and  the  palace  of  pure  gold  in 
which  she  should  dwell. 

Suddenly  I  turned,  and  there,  at  my  back  stood 
my  lovely  bride,  with  outstretched  arms  ready  to 

embrace  me. 

Before  I  could  move  to  receive  her  embrace.  Col- 
onel Windsor  stood  between  us,  with  his  naked 
sword  ready  to  strike  me  down. 

The  darkness  of  night  instantly  descended  from 

the  frowning  heavens  and  involved  us  in  confusion. 

I  muttered  a  terrible  anathema  and  awoke  to  find 

myself  wandering  through  my  room  in  a  state  of 

nervous  excitement. 

Sleep  was  intolerable.     My  brain  was  on  fire. 
I  lit  my  lamp  ;  dressed  myself ;  filled  my  pipe,  and 
for  an  hour  or  so,  paced  my  room  ;  my  anger  mean- 
while becoming  more  ungovernable. 

A  sudden   resolve    seized    me ;  I   would  write  to 
Colonel  Windsor. 

I  sat  down  and  penned  the  following  words  :— 

,  "  Seaton,  Monday  morning. 

M  SiR:_I  have  just  been  informed  that  you  are  in 
Seaton.     I  had  hoped  never  to  have  seen  you  or 


of     human     in- 

;e  my  happiness, 
ny  wife! 

wife ;    I    would 

il  about  my  bcau- 

of   pure  gold   in 

it   my  back  stood 
:d  arms  ready  to 

her  embrace,  Col- 
,  with    his   naked 

y  descended  from 
d  us  in  confusion, 
and  awoke  to  find 
Dom  in  a  state  of 

in  was  on  fire, 
filled  my  pipe,  and 

;  my  anger  mean- 
)le. 

I   would  write  to 

owing  words : — 
roN,  Monday  morning. 

ned  that  you  are  in 
have  seen  you  or 


/ff/IAr  GRANT.  ■  ^n 

heard  of  you   again.     We  met   but   twice   before— 
once,  a  little  over  two  years  ago  at  Mrs.  Siierman's 
garden  party  ;  and  again  that  same  night,  wlien  you 
attempted  to  take  my  life  on  the  bridge  as  I  was  re 
turnmg  to   my  hotel.     You    met    me   armed    with 
sword  and  pistol.     I  was  undefended,  unarmed,  and 
taken  by  surprise.     Had  you  been  a  man  of  honor, 
you  would  not  have  taken  offence,  where  none  was 
intended.     You  cannot  insult  a  gentleman,  for  he  is 
too  noble  to  impute  wrong  motives  to  the  innocent. 
Had  you  been  a  man  of  courage,  you  would  have 
scorned  to  take  an  unfair  advantage  of  even   your 
most  detested  and   unworthy  opponent.     You  are 
not  a  man.     You  are  a  coward.     You  met  me   that 
night,  not  to  exact  an  apology,  for  you  knew  none 
was  due  you  ;  not  to  fight  a  duel,  for  you  knew  I  was 
not  prepared  for  such  an  encounter;  you  went  there 
with   the  malicious  and  premeditated  intention   of 
murdering  me.     That  you  did  not  do  so  is  no  fault 
or  merit  of   yours.     You  are  a  disgrace  to  the  uni- 
torin  you  wear,  and  a  reproach  to  the  noble  soldiers 
of  the  republic,  among  whom  you  claim  to  move. 
1  have  exercised  more  consideration  for  your  posi- 
tion  than   you  have  done  for  yourself.     I    set  no 
detectives  on    your   track   or,   beyond  'doubt,  you 
would   now  be  serving  your  country  in  a  uniform, 
less  honorable  it  is  true,  but  more  deserving  than 
the  one  you  wear.     Nor  have  I  even  done  you  the 
discredit    of    mentioning     your   felonious    conduct  " 
among  my  most  intimate  friends,  some  of  whom  had 
the  misfortune  of  your  acquaintance.     But  now  that 
your  audacity  (for  it  would  be  a  libel  on  your  estab- 
lished character  to  accuse  you  of  having  courajre ) 
has  led  you  to  intrude  your  obnoxious  presence  into 
this   town,  I  shall  no  longer  feel  myself  under  any 


-.„  vi 


50 


'jean  grant. 


'I*- 


obligation  of  silence  in  this  matter.  I  warn  you 
that  unless  you  leave  Seaton  immediat.Jy  upon  re- 
ceipt of  this  communication,  1  shall  swear  out  an 
information  and  have  your  splendid  pretentions  of 
military  honor  and  office  gratified  by  the  most 
punctilious  attendance  of  the  officers  of  the  law.  1 
have  nothing  further  to  say.  Doubtless  your  wis- 
dom or  more  likely  your  cowardice,  will  suggest  the 
rest.      The    early    train    leaves    for    the    city    at 

eight  A.  M.  . 

"  Yours  at  Phtllipi, 

"ARTHUR  GARLAND." 

"Coi.oNEi.  Windsor, 

"  Eagle  Hotel,  Seaton.  •  - 

I  congratulated  myself  that  this  was  a  brilliant 
idea.  At  least  it  gratified  my  anger  and  relieved 
my  mind  of  a  heavy  burden. 

It  was  breaking  day.  I  sent  the  letter  by  the 
hand  of  the  porter  with  express  directions  for  its 
personal  delivery, 

Wentworth  had  not  yet  arisen.  I  threw  myself 
on  my  bed,  and  being  exhausted,  fell  into  a  heavy 
sleep. 


r.  I  warn  you 
:diat<-ly  upon  re- 
all  swear  out  an 
id  pretentions  of 
d  by  the  most 
rs  of  the  law.  I 
abtless  your  wis- 
will  suggest  the 
or    the    city    at 

Hipi, 

lUR  GARLAND." 


s  was  a  brilliant 
ger  and  relieved 

the  letter  by  the 
directions  for  its 

I  threw  myself 
fell  into  a  heavy 


CHAPTER  VII. 

When  I  awoke  I  found  the  iridday  sun  pouring 
its  full  rays  through  my  bedroom  window.  I 
glanced  at  my  watch  which  told  me  that  it  was 
almost  one  o'clock.  I  hastily  repaired  my  toilet 
and  descende.d  to  luncheon. 

I  was  in  a  much  happier  frame  of  mind  than  on 
the  previous  evening.  I  was  now  able  to  treat  the 
alarm  and  consternation  of  last  night  with  levity. 
I  was  even  amazed  at  my  own  puerility.  I  asked 
nyself,  "  Why  should  I  fear  this  coxcomb  ?     Why 

%  Id  I  allow  his  presence  to  exasperate  me? 
^  i  -jld  I  not  treat  him  with  disdain  ?  Should  I  not 
look  at  him,  if  we  chance  to  meet,  with  the  scorn- 
ful  eyes  one  casts  on  a  red-handed  felon?  Had  I 
not  ample  revenge?  Was  not  Jean  Grant  to  be- 
come my  wife  within  two  days?  Had  I  not  made 
a  blunder  in  addressing  any  communication  to  this 
infamous  man?"  No;  something  within  me,  per- 
iiaps  it  was  envy  or  hatred  or  desire  for  revenge, 
told  me  I  had  done  right  in  sending  him  that 
letter. 

From  it  Colonel  Windsor  would  learn  that  I  was 
still   alive   to   witness,  if   need   be,   his  attempted 


i 


52  JEAN  GRANT. 

crime.     He   would   learn   that    I   had  neither   for- 
gotten  nor    forgiven   his   base   attempt  upon   my 
fife.     He  would  learn  that  he  was  still  at  large  on 
furlough    from   my  mercy,  and   that   his   life   and 
liberty  were  in  my  hands.     He  would  learn  that  I 
was  no  craven,  that  I  had  the  determination,  when 
occasion  called  for  it,  to  prosecute  him  to  the  ex- 
treme limi.  of  the  law  ;  that  I  was  in  a  position  to 
hold  him  in  defiance ;  that  I  had  won  by  honorable 
means  the  object  which  he  had  failed  to  gain  by  the 
most  disreputable  tactics  and  for  the  most  debased 
purpose.    He  had  sought  to  gain  possession  of  Jean 
Grant's  fortune,  imagining  it,  doubtless,  to  be  at 
least  one  hundred  times  as  great  as  it  was ;  I  had 
won  her  affection,  her  respect,  her  love. 

Where  was  Colonel  Windsor  now?     As  I  puffed 
my  cigar  1    cast    up  in   my  mind  all   the   possible 
effects  my  note  could  have  had  upon  his  feelings. 
Possibly  he  might  have  got  into  a  violent  passion 
and   decided  to   remain  in   Seaton  at   all  hazards. 
This,    however,   was   improbable.     More  likely  he 
had   hastily  packed   his   effects   and  consulted  the 
railway  time-table.     Perhaps  he  may  have  thought 
that  means  of  travel  too  public,  exposing  him  to 
the  risk  of  arrest.     The  only  alternative  would  be 
for  him  to  hire  a  conveyance  or  leave  town  on  foot. 
At  this  last  conjecture  I  laughed  loud  and  long  and 
wished  I  had  been  up  in  time  to  have  witnessed  the 
highly  suggestive  departure  of  this  gallant  soldier 


inJLVriatPWHiiV 


•^i^MMwiMami 


JEAN  GRANT. 


53 


ad  neither  for- 
empl  upon  my 
still  at  large  on 
at  his  life  and 
ild  learn  that  I 
rmination,  when 
J  him  to  the  ex- 

in  a  position  to 
on  by  honorable 
;d  to  gain  by  the 
le  most  debased 
ossession  of  Jean 
ibtless,  to  be  at 
as  it  was ;  I  had 
ove. 

iw?  As  I  puffed 
all  the  possible 
pon  his  feelings, 
a  violent  passion 
n  at   all  hazards. 

More  likely  he 
tid  consulted  the 
jay  have  thought 
exposing  him  to 
;rnative  would  be 
ave  town  on  foot. 
3ud  and  long  and 
ave  witnessed  the 
lis  gallant  soldier 


of  the  republic,  wiio  lougiit  for  blood,  but  courted 
for  money. 

Still,  I  did  not  feel  entirely  myself.  I  must  see 
Jean  as  soon  as  possible,  and  I  longed  for  the  even- 
ing to  arrive. 

I  thought  I  should  pass  a  part  of  the  afternoon 
with  Wcntworth  if  he  were  not  too  busy.  With 
this  c  _,ject  in  view  I  called  at  his  office,  when 
learned  from  his  partner  that  he  had  taken  the  early 
tram  for  the  city,  but  was  expected  to  return  on 
the  nine  o'clock  train  that  evening. 

From  the  hotel  balcony  I  watched  the  sun  de- 
sctnding  until  its  upper  disk  just  tipped  the  cloud- 
robed  horizon  with  splendid  fire. 

I  lit  my  cigar  and  started  for  Dunmore.  Arrived 
there  I  found  the  house  deserted.  Mrs.  Sherman 
and  Leonore,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  had  driven 
out  to  visit  a  friend  in  the  country  and  Jean  had 
gone  into  the  village. 

I  was  in  no  way  alarmed,  and  as  I  expected  the 
inmates  would  soon  return,  I  decided  to  take  a  seat 
m  the  conservatory  and  finish  my  smoke. 

As  I  sat  there  expelling  mouthful  after  mouthful 
of  the  fragrant  smoke,  and  watched  its  dreamy- 
white  vapors  curling  up  into  the  deepening  twilight 
and  assuming  the  most  fantastic  curves,  spirals  and 
forms  of  every  kind,  the  most  poetical  vision  of  my 
future  married  life  slowly  took  possession  of  my 
mind.     There   I   sat  in  a  blissful  reverie,  scarcely 


■V! 


H 


§4 


JEAN  GRANT. 


I 


conscious  of  my  surroundings ;  pretty  much,  I  must 
believe,  in  the  same  condition  of  body  and  mind  as 
an  opium-eater  when  under  the  charm  of  his  favor- 
ite  drug. 

Suddenly,  I  became  aware  that  some  parties  were 
approaching  the  conservatory,  and  that  they  were 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  I  was  about  to 
make  some  noise  to  indicate  my  presence  when  I 
heard  Jean's  voice  rising  in  a  vehement  remons- 
trance. 

"  How  dare  you,  sir,  even  mention  such  a 
thing?"  she  said. 

I  concluded  to  remain  where  I  was,  for  a  moment, 
not  knowing  what  better  to  do.  They  were  now 
standing  close  by  me,  outside  the  conservatory,  and 
to  my  unutterable  dismay  and  disgust  I  recognized 
the  voice  of  Colonel  Windsor  who  was  Jean's  com- 
panion. 

"  Consider,  Miss  Grant,  consider  for  a  moment, 
the  sacrifice  you  are  about  to  make." 

"  Were  I  not  sure.  Colonel  Windsor,  that  you  are 
my  friend,  I  would  think  you  meant  to  insult  me 
by  speaking  of  my  intended  marriage  to  the  man  of 
my  choice,  the  only  man  I  ever  could  marry,  as  a 
sacrifice." 

"True,  Miss  Grant.  You  are  perfectly  right. 
It  was  rude  of  me  to  call  it  a  sacrifice.  Grant  me 
your  pardon,  I  do  not  wish  to  cause  you  any  pain  ; 
I  would  rather  lose  my  life  than  insult  you.     I  only 


;ty  much,  I  must 
ody  and  mind  as 
irm  of  his  favor- 

ome  parties  were 

that  they  were 

I  was  about  to 

jresence  when  I 

hement  remons- 

nention    such    a 

is,  for  a  moment, 
They  were  now 
:onservatory,  and 
just  I  recognized 
was  Jean's  com- 

r  for  a  moment, 

It 

Isor,  that  you  are 
ant  to  insult  me 
ige  to  the  man  of 
•ould  marry,  as  a 

perfectly  right, 
rifice.  Grant  me 
se  you  any  pain  ; 
suit  you.     I  only 


JEAN  GRANT. 


n 


wish  to  be  your  friend,  and  as  your  friend,  implore 
you  to  stop  for  a  moment  and  consider.     I  speak 
from   entirely  disinterested  motives.     I  have   only 
your  good  in  my  thoughts.     I  have  nothing  against 
Arthur  Garland.     Indeed,  I  do  not  know  him.     I 
may  have  met  him  once,  but  I  do  not  know  him. 
I  am  not  passing  judgment  upon  him.     It  is  not 
my  business  to  do  so.     But  I  ask  you.  Miss  Grant, 
you  the  possessor  of  birth,  beauty,  and  social  posi- 
tion, to  pass  judgment  on  the  man  you  are  about 
to  marry.     It  is  your  privilege,  it  is  your  duty.     It 
is  a  duty  you  owe  not  less  to  yourself  than  to  your 
friends,  relatives  and  Weil-wishers.     I  will  not  speak 
of  it  as  a  sacrifice.     I  shall  express  it  in  less  offen- 
sive, though  more  emphatic,  language.     I  will  ask 
you   to   contemplate  the  solemnity  of  the  altered 
position  you  are  about  to  assume." 

"Your  language.  Colonel  Windsor,  would  seem 
to  imply  that  I  have  rashly  consented  to  marry 
Arthur  Garland  without  having  weighed  the  action 
or  its  consequences.  Now,  for  your  private  satis- 
faction, I  beg  to  inform  you  that  such  is  not  the 
case." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Grant,  forgive  me  once  more. 
What  my  language  lacks  my  heart  supplies. 
There  are  thoughts  too  deep  for  words.  There  is  a 
sincerity  of  affection  which  even  the  most  finely 
chosen  words  cannot  convey.  I  know  you  have 
done  your  duty  in  this  matter.     You  are  talented 


56 


JEAN  GRANT. 


t 


as  well  as  beautiful.  You  have  judgment;  you 
have  reason  ;  you  have  nice  discernment ;  you  have 
intuitive  knowledge  of  human  nature ;  you  have  a 
pure  and  lofty  mind,  unstained  by  one  spot  of 
faithlessness,  without  one  grain  of  suspicion.  You 
have  exercised  all  these  qualities.  You  think  you 
are  satisfied.  But  why?  Because  your  mind  is  so 
pure  that  you  can  see  nothing  but  good  in  others. 
It  is  in  such  natures  as  yours  to  love  all,  to  trust 
all,  to  forgive  all.  Such  women  as  you  have  mar- 
ried men  out  of  compassion  though  they  did  not 
love  them.  Such  women  as  you  have  thrown  away 
their  lives,  their  happiness,  their  hopes  of  heaven, 
rather  than  cause  some  scheming  villain  an  hour's 
pain,  disappointment,  or  remorse.  Again,  even  at 
the  risk  of  incurring  your  displeasure,  I  beg  of  you 
to  beware  of  yourself.  Beware  of  your  .  An  nature; 
not  of  its  weakness,  but  of  its  strength,  of  its  nobil- 
ity, of  its  virtue." 

"  Colonel  Windsor,  I  cannot  suspect  the  purity  of 
your  intentions,  but  I  cannot  resist  laughing  at 
your  admonition.  Surely  if  I  possess  all  the  good 
qualities  which  you  attribute  to  me,  you  should 
have  more  confidence  in  me  in  this  affair.  Really, 
you  have  become  quite  a  preacher.  I  must  insist, 
however,  that  you  will  not  further  prosecute  this 
line  of  conversation.  It  is  extremely  disagreeable. 
It  would  be  mortifying  to  Arthur  should  he  become 
aware  of  it." 


JEAN  CKANT. 


I? 


judgment ;  you 
mneut ;  you  have 
ture  ;  you  have  a 

by    one    spot   of 

f  suspicion.     You 

You  think  you 

;  your  mind  is  so 

it  good  in  others. 

love  all,  to  trust 
\s  you  have  mar- 
ugh  they  did  not 
lave  thrown  away 
hopes  of  heaven, 

villain  an  hour's 
,  Again,  even  at 
sure,  I  beg  of  you 

your  .  An  nature; 
;ngth,  of  its  nobil- 

spect  the  purity  of 
resist  laughing  at 
ssess  all  the  good 
(  me,  you  should 
lis  affair.  Really, 
er.  I  must  insist, 
her  prosecute  this 
mely  disagreeable. 
•  should  he  become 


"  He  need  never  be  any  the  wiser.  It  will  cer- 
tainly do  you  no  good  to  acquaint  him  with  the 
subject  of  our  conversation." 

*'  I  shall  certainly  not  feel  it  my  duty  to  conceal 
this  or  anything  else  from  Arthur  when  he  shall 
have  become  my  husband.  If  it  is  wrong  for  me  to 
tell  him  of  it,  it  is  wrong  for  me  to  engage  in  it. 
Nothing  unkind  lia.=  been  said  of  him.  Nothing 
shall  be  withheld  from  him." 

"  That  illustrates  what  I  have  just  said  Your 
constancy  and  faithfulness  e-xtend  even  to  trifles. 
Oh,  what  a  strange  world  this  is,  where  innocence 
becomes  the  means  of  its  own  destruction  !  You 
are  too  good  for  this  world,  Miss  Grant.  Such 
a  confiding,  honest  nature  as  yours  can  never 
fight  its  way  through  this  buffeting  world  with- 
out pain  and  loss.  Do  you  think  for  a  moment 
that  this  wonderful  man  whom  you  mean  to  ruarry, 
this  acme  of  human  excellence,  this  paragon  of 
men,  this  Hyperion  dropped  down  from  among  the 
gods,  will  observe  such  scrupulous  good  faith 
towards  you  ?     Well,  this  is  a  comical  old  world  !  " 

"  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  but  he  will.  I  have 
implicit  faith  in  his  honor.  I  believe  he  will  keep 
no  part  of  his  life,  present,  past,  or  future,  hidden 
from  me." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Oh,  don't  be  too  amusing,  Miss 
Grant.  This  is  carrying  faith  down  to  ridicule. 
What  a  splendid  travesty!  " 


58 


JEAX  GRANT. 


f 

X 


••  It  will  always  delight  me  to  please  or  amuse 
you,  Colonel  Windsor,  but  I  should  prefer  a  more 
appropriate  subject.  And,  really,  I  must  say  that 
your  mirth  is  an  enigma  to  me.  If  you  can  make 
so  light  of  human  faith,  I  fail  to  see  on  what  ground 
you  base  the  sermon  on  morals  which  you  delivered 
a  few  moments  ago.  You  evidently  are  not  a  dis- 
ciple of  your  own  doctrine." 

"  I  beg  your  f)ardon,  Miss  Grant.  You  can- 
not see  this  matter  as  I  do.  You  have  not  seen 
much  of  the  world.  You  have  not  yet  measured 
the  average  man.  Oh,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Grant, 
he  is  a  fraud,  a  delusion,  and  a  snare  ;  a  monster, 
in  all  verity!  He  brushes  his  promises  aside 
like  cobwebs.  He  cares  nothing  for  woman  but 
to  have  her  serve  him.  He  has  little  faith  and 
less  honor.  If  you  will  not  hear  me  now,  remember 
my  words,  for  they  will  surely  come  to  pass.  Trav- 
erse every  country  in  Europe,  and  follow  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  through  half  the  States  in  the  Union  as 
I  have  done,  and  you  will  observe  that  this  character 
applies  not  to  one  nation  or  class,  but  to  every 
class  and  condition  of  men.  Not  one  man  out  of  a 
million  can  appreciate  such  a  nature  as  yours." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  observe  that  you  have  so  little 
faith  in  your  own  sex.  I  can  say  a  good  deal  more 
than  that  for  mine." 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me.  Miss  Grant,  I  am  not 
speaking  of  a//  men,  but  of  the  average  man." 


m 


)  please  or  amuse 
uld  prefer  a  more 
',  I  must  say  that 
If  you  can  make 
sec  on  what  ground 
hich  you  delivered 
itly  are  not  a  dis- 

jrant.  You  can- 
{ou  have  not  seen 
not  yet  measured 
:  you,  Miss  Grant, 
snare  ;  a  monster, 
lis  promises  aside 
ig  for  woman  but 
as  little  faith  and 
me  now,  remember 
me  to  pass.  Trav- 
id  follow  the  Stars 
:es  in  the  Union  as 
:  that  this  character 
lass,  but  to  every 
•t  one  man  out  of  a 
urc  as  yours." 
you  have  so  little 
r  a  good  deal  more 

ss  Grant,  I  am  not 
werage  man." 


JEM.V  GKA.Vr.  ^ 

"  Then,  I  am  glad  to  say,  it  has  never  been  my 
misfortune  to  have  formed  the  acquaintance  of  an 
tii'crai^c  man." 

"  Indeed  !  Then,  I  must  have  been  misinformed. 
Miss  Grant.  Since  coming  to  the  village  I  have 
been  told  on  all  hands  that  your  intended  husband 
belongs  to  that  class." 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  any  resident  of  Seaton 
made  use  of  such  language.  I  am  not  aware  that 
Arthur  has  a  single  enemy  in  this  place  and  none 
but  an  enemy  would  give  utterance  to  such  a  false- 
hood regarding  him.  Arthur  was  born  and  brought 
up  here.  He  is  known  and  esteemed  by  the  whole 
village  as  a  man  of  character  and  worth.  I  am 
-^ure  he  has  never  been  known  to  do  a  mean  or  a 
dishonorable  act." 

"  True,  quite  true ;  I  believe  all  that.  That  is 
not  what  I  refer  to.  I  speak  of  birth.  No  thanks 
to  a  man  for  doing  right.  Perhaps  he  may  never 
liave  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  wrong  to  his 
profit.  There  are  higher  tests  of  human  character. 
His  best  actions  cannot  give  him  noble  birth.  His 
virtues  are  merely  negative." 

Reader,  you  have  already  condemned  me  with 
your  bitterest  thoughts  for  having  remained  a 
passive  auditor  to  all  this  abuse  of  myself  and  an- 
noyance  to  Jean.  But  have  you  considered  my 
position  ?  Have  you  thought  that  as  I  heard  this 
villain  throw  out  his  subtle  insinuations  against  my 


liiiiwOiiirvritrMiiiiiim'-lnn 


6o 


JKAN  GRANT. 


reputation,  I  was  in  dan<f,'cr  of  dashing  his  brains 
out  with  tlic  first  weapon  1  could  lay  my  liands  on  ? 
Who  can  describe  my   feclin^rs?     Who  can  imagine 
what    resentment  and  murderous  anger  held  sway 
ill   my  bosom  as  1   listened  to  this  man,  who  had 
already   attempted    to    murder   me    in  cold  blood, 
standing  beside  the    womnn  who   within  two  days 
was  to  be  my  wife,  breathing  in  her  ears  by  the  use 
of  every  artful  agency,  the  most  defamatory  accusa- 
tions against  my  reputation.     How  could  I  endure 
it?     How,  or  rather  why  had  I  suffered  it  so  long? 
I  know  not.     All   I   know  is  that  I  sat  there  un: 
manned  by  the  very  force  of  my  own  passion,  fear- 
ing to  move,  lest  in  the  awful  moment  which  must 
follow,   I  should   kill   this  man   and  myself.      Had 
I  not  my  revenge  ?    What  could  be  sweeter  music  to 
my   ears  than   to   hear   his   slaiulcrous   falsehoods 
refuted   triumphantly   by   my   true,   loving    Jean? 
What  transport  half  so  delightful  as  to  hear  my 
praises  flowing  from  her  lips  and  falling  like  drops 
of  burning  lava  into  the  heart  of  my  would-be  mur- 
derer ?    My  mind  was  now  fully  made  up.    I  should 
listen  to  all  the  dialogue.     I  should  hear  every  libel 
which  this  false  man  had  to  publish  against  me.     1 
should  witness  my  love  making  such  a  profession  of 
her  affection  to  me  as  no  woman  was  ever  before 
called  upon  to  make.     Mine  would  be  the  supreme 
pleasure   of   seeing   this   dastard   driven    from  the 
field  by  the  piercing  shafts  of  a  woman's  satire.     I 


iinci>j!lij*WWWHtaMWM"-'l'*lll'Wa>*iill'i''i'tl*'*''i'"i  ■  iMinii  ■ 


JEAX  UKAXr. 


6i 


ashing  liis  brains 
lay  my  hands  on  ? 
Who  can  imagiiK' 
anycr  held  sway 
lis  man,  who  had 
ic   in  cold  blood, 

within  two  days 
LT  cars  by  the  use 
efamatory  accus.i- 
w  could  I  endure 
ffered  it  so  long? 
it  I  sat  there  un- 
own  passion,  fear- 
ment  which  must 
nd  myself.  Had 
c  sweeter  music  to 
tlcrous  falsehoods 
ue,  loving  Jean  ? 
ul  as  to  hear  my 
falling  like  drops 
[tiy  would-be  mur- 
nade  up.  I  should 
Id  hear  every  libel 
ish  against  me.  1 
jch  a  profession  of 
1  was  ever  before 
Id  be  the  supreme 

driven    from  the 
woman's  satire.     I 


should  see  him  humbled  in  the  dust  by  her  con- 
stancy, and  baffled  in  his  vile  attempts  to  turn 
.iwry  the  current  of  her  love.  In  his  ignoniinious 
defeat  I  should  be  more  than  conqueror,  and  should 
find  myself  more  than  ever  established  in  the 
unassailable  stron<;iiold  of  Jean's  love.  Ves ;  I 
would  hear  it  all.  That  would  be  my  chief  revenge. 
As  a  miser  rubs  his  ha  ds  in  the  agony  of  .'elight 
as  he  bends  above  his  shining  pelf,  so  I  Jiould 
gloat  over  the  abasement,  defeat,  and  shame  of  this 
impious  wretch.  And  then?  Then  what?  Iliad 
not  yet  decided  whether  to  sally  forth,  overtake  iiim 
in  his  retreat  and  beat  him  with  my  own  hands,  or  to 
commit  him  into  the  custody  of  the  law  for  his  past 
offence.  In  the  mean  time  I  would  listen,  and  trust 
my  ultimate  decision  to  the  course  which  the  dia- 
logue which  was  now  waxing  warmer  should  event- 
ually take. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


"  Negative  virtue!  "  Jean  exclaimed  with  un- 
wonted ardor.     "  Is  doing  right  negative?     If  so, 
pray  what  is  positive  ?     You  astound   me !     Noble 
birth,   forsooth !     One   would   think   to   hear    you 
speak  that  you  were  not  an  American  !     Is  this  a 
land.  Colonel  Windsor,  where  distinctions  of  birth 
are   built  on  ?    This   is  America,  the  home  of  the 
free.     I  love  it  !     I   love  this  land  !     What  is  the 
foundation  stone  of  our  Constitution  ?    If  I  remem- 
ber ariglit,  Arthur  told  me  it  is  this—'  All  men  are 
born  free  and  equal.'     That  is  the  grandest  senti- 
ment ever  moulded  by  human  lips.     It  is  the  true 
basis  of  all  society;  it  is  the  embodiment  of  the 
highest  philosophy.    It  is  more  than  half  of  Christ's 
teaching.     Upon   this   rock   of  equal   birth,  equal 
rights,  and  equal  laws,  we  have  planted  the  founda- 
tion   of  this   grand   Republic,  destined   to  be  the 
greatest  nation  the  world  has  ever  seen.     It  is  this 
motto,   filling   the   youth   of    our   land   with   holy 
aspirations,  that  lifts   the   peasant's   son  from  the 
plough   to   the  President's   chair.      It   is  the  true 
principle   to   which   every   human   heart   lends   its 
assent   without   comment   or  argument.     All  men 


t 
t 
t 
t 
h 

0 

ii 

si 


•%] 


I. 

xlaimed  with  un- 
negative  ?  If  so, 
3und  me !  Noble 
ink  to  hear  you 
lerican  !  Is  this  a 
5tinctions  of  birth 
,  the  home  of  the 
nd  !  What  is  the 
:ion  ?  If  I  remem- 
liis — '  All  men  are 
he  grandest  senti- 
ps.  It  is  the  true 
mbodiment  of  the 
lan  half  of  Christ's 
equal  birth,  equal 
ilanted  the  founda- 
estined  to  be  the 
;r  seen.  It  is  this 
ir  land  with  holy 
nt's  son  from  the 
r.  It  is  the  true 
m  heart  lends  its 
gument.    All  men 


JEAN  GRANT. 


63 


are  born  free  and  equal.  It  was  this  sentiment 
wh.ch  drove  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  to  forsake  all  tha 
was  dear  to  them  in  the  old  land,  to  adventure  on  a 
stormy  sea,  and  to  found  this  country,  the  asylum  of 
justice,  the  home  of  equality  and  freedom,  the  era- 
die  of  progress  and  fraternity.     It  was  this  senti- 

each     T  '^^T  '"^'"^  ^°  ^^'^^  "P  ^-^  -gainst 
each  other  and  sacrifice  their  peace,  their  families. 

tZ    71 '"  "f  •■ '°  '''■''^""  '^^  y^"^^  «f  bondage 
om  off  the  neck  of  slavery.     It  is  this  sentiment 
hat  makes  our  whole  nation  applaud   true  worth 
and  heroism  irrespective  of  birth,  creed,  or  national- 
ly.    I  am  not  ashamed  of  Arthur  Garland's  birth. 
I  am  proud  of  it ;  proud  to  know  tliat  he  has  risen 
above  his  birth's  invidious  bar  to  occupy  a  position 
of  promise  and  honor  among  his   fellows.       His 
parents   were   not  rich  ;    neither   were   they  poor 
Ihey  had  sufficient  of  this  world's  goods  to  make 
them  com  ortable.  and  they  were  always   respect- 

I  think  a     "^  ""f'f  ''  '  '^"^  •^^"'  ^  ^-^^'-' - 
I  thmk  a  man  who  has  sufficient  pluck  and  energy 
to  vvm  his  way  in  the  world  is  much  to  be  preferred' 
to   a   self-styled   gentleman   through   whose    veins 
here  run  the  hereditary  vices  of  a  long  line  of  ances! 
tra    profligates,  whose  only  merit  is  his  accidental 
b  rth  in  a  palace  and  whose  only  wealth  is  the  moiety 
of  a  fund  wrung  from  the  very  hearts  of  a  long-sufTer- 
•ng  peasantry,  rendered  feeble,  effeminate,  and  unre- 
sistmg  by  centuries  of  social  tyranny  and  monarchi- 


64 


JEAN  GRANT. 


w* 


cal  extravagance.  I  must  repeat  that  you  amaze 
me,  Colonel  Windsor,  by  referring  to  distinctions  ol 
birth  as  a  ground  of  preference.  I  would  rather 
marry  the  son  of  our  old  gardener  if  he  proved  him- 
self a  worthy  man,  than  a  titled  snob  with  nothing 
but  vicious  and  idiotic  tendencies  in  his  composi- 
tion.    So  would  any  American  girl." 

"  What  a  splendid   speech  !      What  an  eloquent 
exposition  of   the  elementary  principles  of   repub- 
lican   government!     All   men   are  born    free    and 
equal.      The   trouble,  is   they   won't   remain   that 
way.     Some  rise  into  higher  liberty,  some  sink  into 
slavery,   some   attain    to   wealth,   some  grovel    in 
poverty ;  some  pursue  virtue,  others  revel  in  vice : 
some  become  martyrs,  heroes,  deliverers,  reformers, 
and  philanthropists,  while  others  develop  into  mur- 
derers, cowards,  oppressors,  fossils,  and  misanthro- 
pists.    I  am  not  an  AmeHcan,  I  must  confess  I  am 
an  Englishman.     You  Americans  are  mighty  level- 
lers but  you  are  also  cunning  trimmers.     Techni- 
cally speaking,  you  level  up  and  trim  down."  ^^ 
"  I  don't  understand  you,  Colonel  Windsor." 
"I  simply  mean  this.     You    would   have   every 
person  who  is  above  you  in  rank,  wealth  or  influ- 
ence, brought  down  to  your  level.    You  would  level 
all  who  are  above  you.     But  there  you  would  have 
the  levelling  stop.     You  would  not  have  yourself 
levelled  with  those  who  are  below  you.     Each  indi- 
vidual begins  to  trim  exactly  at  that  degree  in  the 


J 
> 

a 
ii 

P 
nr 


^' 


nHoi  iiriumwuiWimwlwiXiK 


JEAN  GRAATT. 


65 


that  you  amaze 
to  distinctions  of 
I  would  rather 
if  he  proved  him- 
nob  with  nothing 
s  in  his  composi- 

Vhat  an  eloquent 
nciples  of  repub- 
■e  born  free  and 
on't  remain  that 
ty,  some  sink  into 
,  some  grovel  in 
lers  revel  in  vice ; 
liverers,  reformers, 

develop  into  mur- 
ils,  and  misanthro- 
must  confess  I  am 
3  are  mighty  level- 
:rimmers.     Techni- 
trim  down." 
nel  Windsor." 
would    have    every 
ik,  wealth  or  influ- 
1.    You  would  level 
re  you  would  have 

not  have  yourself 
w  you.     Each  indi- 

that  degree  in  the 


soaa   lhe:mome ter  opposite  which  he  is  the  margi- 
nal black  l.ne.     You  denounce  the  titled  aristocracy 
of  Europe,  because  it  will  not  marry  and  be  given  in 
marnage  with  the  offspring  of  rampant  democracy. 
But  when  one  of  your  daughters  elopes  with  your 
coachman,  you  are  humiliated   and   affronted,  and 
you  renounce  her  as  an  outcast  from  your  family. 
Oh,  you  are  indeed  a  nation  of  hypocrites !     Why 
not  be  consistent  ?     Why  not  acknowledge  the  pro- 
pnety  of  titular  distinctions,  or  if  not  carry  your  lev- 
ellmg  process  down  to  the  lowest  point  of  society?" 
"There  ,s  no  doubt  something  in  what  you  say. 
You  view  us  from  th^  standpoint  of  the  individual, 
1,  trom  the  standpoint  of  the  nation." 

"Then,  Miss  Grant,  we  understand  each  other  on 
that  subject.     Seldom  do  I  meet  even  an  American 
woman   who  can  bring  such  an  eloquent  array  of 
ac  s  m  support  of  her  position  as  you   have  done. 
I   did   not    know  before  that  you   could  number 
among  your  numerous  accomplishments  and  talents 
that  of  the  eloquence  of  a   Webster.     Would    to 
Heaven  you  had  known  who  you  were  and  what 
your  ta  ents  were  before  you  had  promised  to  throw 
yourse  f  away  on  one  who  is  in  no  way  your  peer." 
Colonel  Windsor,  what  do  you  mean  ?    I  have 
a  httle  more  faith  in  my  own  judgment  than  I  have 
m  yours  and  in  my  judgment  Arthur  Garland  is  my 
peer,  and  more  than  my  peer.     My  marriage  is  a 
matter  of  my  own    private  business  and   I   shall 


€6 


JEAN  GRANT. 


Vi- 


suffer  no  dictation  from  any  one  concerning  it. 
The  man  I  have  chosen  is  the  man  I  love.  That 
settles  it.  No  one  has  a  right  to  question  or  criti- 
cise after  that." 

"  Yes  ;  that's  very  well,  Miss  Grant.  But  why  do 
you  love  Arthur  Garland?" 

"  Because  he  is  worthy  of  my  love." 

"  Very  well ;  there  is  much  sense  in  an  answer 
of  that  kind.  If  he  is  worthy  he  must  have  worth 
of  some  kind." 

"  So  he  has  ;  he  has  worth  of  every  kind." 

"  Indeed  !  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it.  His  educa- 
tion  ?     I  suppose  he  has  a  finished  education  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  was  graduated  at  Harvard." 

"With  honors  I  suppose?" 

"  No,  I  believe  not.    If  so,  he  has  not  told  me  of 

It. 

"  Ah !     that's     unfortunate.    A    college 
nowadays  without  honors  amounts  to  little, 
profession  does  he  practise  ?  " 
"  He  is  not  a  professional  gentleman." 
"No    profession?    You    surely  would    prefer  a 
professional  gentleman.     A  woman  of  your  ambi- 
tion would  never  be  happy  tied  to  a  man  without 
professional   aspiration.     A  man   without  a  profes- 
sion is  like  a  bird  without  wings ;  he  cannot  rise  ; 
he   cannot   fly ;  he  cannot  shine  ;  he  cannot  move. 
He  must  remain  stationary  all  his  life.     If  he  has 
no  ambition  all  the  better  for  him  ;  for  then  he  can 


course 
What 


c 
c 
a 
ii 
s 

y 

tl 

Ol 

a< 
at 
ar 

b« 


amm 


tmmmumt 


e  concerning  it. 
an  I  love.  That 
ijuestion  or  criti- 

mt.    But  why  do 

ve. 

ise  in  an  answer 

must  have  worth 

/ery  kind." 
ir  it.     His  educa- 
education?  " 
vard." 

las  not  told  me  of 

i    college    course 
s  to  little.    What 

sman." 

/  would  prefer  a 
lan  of  your  ambi- 
to  a  man  without 
without  a  profes- 
i ;  he  cannot  rise  ; 
;  he  cannot  move, 
is  life.  If  he  has 
n  ;  for  then  he  can 


/JSAAT  GRANT. 


67 


seek  seclusion,  and  avoiding  the  curious  eye  of  the 
world,  let  his  narrow  life  burn  out  unused  and 
unnot.ced.  If  he  have  an  ambition,  thrice  pitiful  is 
he  then.  H.s  futile  and  painful  attempts  to  rise 
against  a  fate  that  cannot  be  assuaged,  will  evoke 
the  pity,  the  sympathy  and  the  tears  of  the  world 
to  no  other  purpose  than  to  kill  with  sorrow  and 
remorse  the  helpless  object  which  calls  them  forth 
I  hope  .t  is  not  yet  too  late  for  you  to  recall  your 
vow  and  save  yourself  a  life  fruitless  in  everything 
but  misery,  regret  and  disappointment." 

"I  have  decided      You  have  no  right  to  ask  me 
to  change  my  mind. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Grant,  you  are  perfectly  right  in 
what    you    say.     I  have   no    right    to  ask  you  to 
change  your  mind.     I  do  not  ask  it  as  a  right      I 
do  not  even  ask  it  as  a  favor  to  myself.     I  ask  i't  as 
a  kindness  to  you.     Were   I  seeking  to  further  any 
interest  o    my  own,  do  you  think  my  independent 
spirit  would  permit  me  to  insist  as  I  have  done  on 
your  re-consideration  of   this  solemn    relation  into 
which  you  are  about  to  enter?     Never.     But  I  feel 
that  you  are  too  much  of  a  lady  to  misjudge  me 
or  to  construe  as  an  offence  anything   I   may  say 
as  a  kindness,  even  though  it  may  be  said,  as  truth 
and  smcerity  are  always  expressed,  with  bluntness 
and  directness,  bordering  on  apparent  rudeness." 

I  beg  your  pardon.  Colonel  Windsor,  if  I   have 
been  too  hasty  in  r-plying  to  your  kind  counseL     I 


f: 


68 


JEAN  GRANT. 


I. 


f? 


i? 


X'' 


)<t 


have  not  the  slightest  suspicion  that  you  are  acting 
from  a  selfish  motive.  I  know  you  are  ndvising  as 
a  friend.  If  I  cannot  accept  your  advice,  it  is  be- 
cause it  is  impossible  for  me  to  do  so.  I  love 
Arthur  Garland.  I  shall  marry  him.  Can  we  find 
no  other  subject  more  pleasant  to  discourse?  For- 
give me,  if  I  have  been  impatient  or  ill-tempered." 

"  You  have  done  or  said  nothing  which  requires 
pardon.  I  understand  your  predicament.  In  truth 
I  sympathize  with  you  profoundly.  I  presume  this 
young  man  must  be  the  possessor  of  great  wealth?" 
"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Garland?  I  do  not  know 
anything  about  the  extent  of  his  fortune.  I  know 
he  has  enough  to  keep  me  supplied  with  whatever 
I  may  require  or  he  would  not  ask  me  to  become 
his  wife." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Great  heavens !  Miss  Grant,  are 
you  losing  your  reason?  It  cannot  be  true  that 
yoti,  a  woman  among  millions,  are  going  to  lit- 
erally throw  yourself  away  on  a  youth  without 
birth,  without  education,  without  profession,  without 
wealth  !  Impossible  !  It  cannot  be  !  I  am  dream- 
ing! Oh,  Miss  Grant,  I  implore  you,  do  not  wreck 
your  life's  happiness,  by  indulging  in  a  whim.  Do 
not  act  rashly  or  hastily.  You  are  young  yet. 
Take  time.  Postpone  your  marriage  for  a  year. 
That  will  give  you  time  to  consider,  time  to  reflect. 
A  few  days  more  and  it  will  be  too  late.  AH  will 
be  over  and  you  will  be  a  prisoner  for  life,  bound  in 


,»4ae^><iii»-ieiiiti»')>iiiiBi«iim«'-ii»aciiiri»i>iiiiiiM  ym 


JEAN  GRANT. 


69 


you  are  acting 

are  ndvising  as 

idvice,  it  is  be- 

do   so.     I    love 

1.     Can  we  find 

iscourse  ?     For- 

ill-tempered." 

which  requires 

nent.     In  truth 

I  presume  this 

great  wealth?" 

I  do  not  know 

rtune.     I  know 

\  with  whatever 

me  to  become 

Miss  Grant,  are 
)t  be  true  that 
•e  going  to  lit- 
youth  without 
jfession,  without 
; !  I  am  dream- 
)u,  do  not  wreck 
in  a  whim.  Do 
are  young  yet. 
iage  for  a  year. 
,  time  to  reflect. 
)o  late.  All  will 
or  life,  bound  in 


chains  of  fire,  chains  so  strong  that  even  the  laws  of 
the  country  cannot  break  them  asunder." 

"  I  cannot  stop  to  consider  what  Arthur  Garland 
possesses.  It  is  enough  that  I  love  him.  Of  one 
thing  I  am  certain,  that  he  possesses  the  highest 
earthly  treasures— a  Christian  hope  and  a  blameless 
reputation." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that?" 
"Absolutely  sure." 
"  Have  you  known  him  all  his  life?" 
"I  have." 

"  Has  he  always  lived  here  ?  "  - 

"Yes;  with  short  intervals  at  school  and  abroad." 

"Ah,    just    so;    very   good;    have — have— have 

you  a   particular  knowledge   of   how  he   deported 

himself  while  at  college?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  he  conducted  himself 
as  a  gentleman." 

"  Miss  Grant,  I  regret  to  say  there  are  one  or 
two  incidents  in  the  life  of  this  young  man  of  which 
you  appear  to  be  entirely  ignorant.  I  fear  he  has 
not  kept  faith  with  you." 

"  I  am  sure  he  has  acted  in  good  faith.  No  one 
can  say  anything  against  him." 

"I  admire  your  fidelity.  But  facts  cannot  lie. 
There  are  a  few  things  about  him  you  should  know. 
I  did  not  come  here  to  disclose  them  to  you. 
When  you  said  a  moment  ago  that  Garland  had 
never  done  a  mean  act,  I  agreed  with  you,  though 


70 


JEAiW  GRANT. 


i 

V: 


I  knew  the  contrary  to  be  the  truth.  I  did  not  wish 
to  give  you  the  pain  of  learning  his  offences.  It 
gives  me  pain  to  think  of  them.  I  little  dreamt  it 
should  ever  become  necessary  for  me  to  speak  of 
them  to  you.  But  since  this  gallant  adventurer  has 
not  had  the  honor  to  tell  you  of  them,  I,  as  your 
friend,  would  be  recreant  to  our  friendship  did  1 
not  disclose  these  damaging  escapades  of  your 
lover,  so  that  you  may  be  fairly  prepared  for  what 
may  be  the  sequel  to  your  marriage  should  you  per- 
sist in  your  present  purpose." 

"  Colonel  Windsor,  stop  !  Not  another  word  !  I 
will  not  hear  you !  Whatever  you  might  say 
against  the  honor  of  Arthur  Garland  would  be  false. 
I  would  not  believe  it  and  I  will  not  hear  it.  I  am 
beginning  to  suspect  your  motives.  'ou  cannot  be 
my  friend,  when  you  wish  to  cause  me  such  pain — 
unnecessary  pain  and  worry." 

"Brave  girl!  My  brave  trusting  Jean!"  I 
thought,  and  trembled  in  delirious  triumph.  "You 
are  the  truest  and  bravest  of  women,"  I  whispered 
to  my  heart.  My  position  was  becoming  painfully 
uncomfortable.  I  chid  myself  for  having  sat  there 
in  silence  so  long.  I  called  myself  a  coward,  a 
weakling,  a  nobody.  Was  there  ever  a  man  before, 
since  the  world  began,  who  would  sit  covertly  by, 
and  listen  unmoved  to  a  treacherous  rival  deliber- 
ately coining  a  fabric  of  lies  about  himself  and 
pouring  them  with  all  the  venom  and  subtlety  of  a 


faiwa 


M«MH»i«iwTiii>mi»OT>wnMKViiiii^^ 


I  did  not  wish 
his  offences.  It 
[  little  dreamt  it 
me  to  speak  of 
t  adventurer  has 
them,  I,  as  your 
friendship  did  I 
ipades  of  your 
epared  for  what 
should  you  per- 


nother  word !  I 
you  might  say 
d  would  be  false. 
)t  hear  it.  I  am 
.'ou  cannot  be 
me  such  pain — 

ing  Jean!"  I 
:riumph.  "You 
en,"  I  whispered 
loming  painfully 
having  sat  there 
elf  a  coward,  a 
er  a  man  before, 
sit  covertly  by, 
)us  rival  deliber- 
)ut  himself  and 
nd  subtlety  of  a 


y£^JV  GRANT. 


7f 


serpent  into  the  ears  of  his  betrothed  >  Did  there 
ever  before  live  a  man  who  would  not  defend  his 
lady-love  from  the  unchivalrous  attack  of  a  dc 
ceiver's  insolence  ? 

Never    until    that    moment    had    I   entertained 
an  intelligent  appreciation  of  Shakespeare's  "  Ham- 
let.       Like  him,  I  had  the  motive  and  the  intention 
to   act.      Like    his,    my    enemy   had    stained    his 
hands  in  innocent  blood.     Like  him,  I  was  called 
upon  by  all  that  was  good  and  sacred  to   avenge 
a  great  wrong.     Hamlefs  guilty,  incestuous  uncle 
had  found  his  own  brother  asleep,  and  took  ad- 
vantage  of  the   occasion   to  rob   him  of   his   life- 
my   wretched   enemy,  Colonel   Windsor,  under  all 
most   equally   disadvantageous  circumstances,   sat- 
•sfied  himself   that  he   had    murdered    me;  Shake- 
speare's  model  of  fiendish  crime  had  pretended  to 
soothe  the  sorrow  of  his  brother's  wife  by  becoming 
her  most  devoted  husband.     Colonel  Windsor  was 
now  sitting  within  a  few  yards  of   me,  seeking  by 
insult  and  falsehood  to  sever  me  from  the  one  treas- 
ure  n  all  the  world  which  I  held  dear.     Yet  with 
all  this  damning  evidence  against  Colonel  Windsor 
burning  at    my   core,    Hamlet-like,    I    lacked   the 
courage,  the  decision,  the  manhood,  to  strike      But 
I  was  now  committed  to  my  position.     Since  I  had 
heard  so  much  I  would  hear  all-then  I  would  con- 
front Colonel    Windsor  with  a  terrible   reckoning 
But  while  I  decided  on  this  definite  course  of  ac- 


72 


JEAN  GRANT. 


I 

Hi' 

ml 


* 


•■'ii' 


tion,  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  the  fact  that 
my  senses  were  becoming  confused  and  my  anger 
uncontrollable.  My  brain  was  on  fire,  and  I 
dreaded  what  the  next  few  moments  might  bring 

forth. 

Colonel  Windsor,  it  became  evident  to  me,  had 
arranged  his  attack  upon  Jean's  affection  with  the 
utmost  skill  and  tact.  He  had  first  figured  in  the 
role  of  a  polished  gentleman,  too  proud  and  well- 
bred  to  impute  even  a  single  dishonorable  thought 
to  me  or  any  one  else.  In  this  character  he  had  ex- 
hausted, to  no  purpose,  all  his  stock  in  trade  of 
finesse,  duplicity  and  masked  hypocrisy. 

He  had  endless  resource.  He  next  pretended  to 
honestly  and  conscientiously  v.-eigh  me  in  the  bal- 
ance and  declared  that  he  found  me  wanting— 
wanting  in  birth,  in  education,  in  wealth,  in  every- 
thing. Here  again  he  was  foiled.  Then  he  di- 
rected his  malignity  against  my  private  character. 

But  all  in  vain. 

What  course  was  he  now  about  to  pursue? 
Would  he  invent  specific  falsehoods?  Thank  God, 
there  was  nothing  in  my  life  which  I  feared  he 
would  disclose.  Of  one  thing  I  was  certain— that 
Jean  Grant  would  remain  steadfast  to  the  end. 
Her  faith  would  not  waver,  her  love  would  not 
swerve,  her  heart  would  remain  mine.  Had  I 
doubted  this  I  could  not  have  sat  there  one  mo- 
ment.    I  should  have  sprung  :it  the  villain's  throat. 


;lf  the  fact  that 
1  and  my  anger 
on  fire,  and  1 
nts  might  bring 

lent  to  me,  had 
ffection  with  the 
;t  figured  in  the 
proud  and  vvell- 
norable  thought 
racter  he  had  ex- 
:ock  in  trade  of 
crisy. 

ext  pretended  to 
1  me  in  the  bal- 
j  me  wanting — 
wealth,  in  every- 
d.  Then  he  di- 
jrivate  character. 

30ut  to  pursue? 
ds?  Thank  God, 
lich  I  feared  he 
,vas  certain — that 
fast  to  the  end. 
love  would  not 
n  mine.  Had  I 
at  there  one  mo- 
he  villain's  throat. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Miss  Grant!    Jean!  Let  me  call  you  Jean  " 
contmuQd    Colonel  Windsor,  afJecting   the  utmolt 
pathos,     .n  the  name  of  God,  do  not   misread  my 
thoughts.     As  I  live,  they  are   for   your  welfare 
Have  I  known  ypu  and  enjoyed  your  friendship  if 
not  your  affection,  have  I  thought  of  you,  corre- 
sponded with  you,  yes,  even  loved  you  to  no  pur- 
pose ?    Can  you  for  a  moment  doubt  my  sincerity? 
Have  I  not  lived  more  for  you  than    for  anything 
else  m  the  world  ?     Yes,  and  I  will  do   more      If 
necessary  I  can  die  for  you.     Often  have  I  staked 
my  l^e  on  the  field  of  battle   for  my  country.     I 
call  Heaven  to  witness  that  I  love  you  more  than  I 
do  my  country  or  myseif.     Can  you,  will  you,  do 
you   believe  me  capable  of  any  act   of    infidelity 
towards  you  ?  ^ 

•  Colonel  Windsor  had  so  well  simulated  a  sincere 
and  devoted  interest  that  he  was  now  standing 
before  Jean  m  a  most  beseeching  attitude.  As  he 
delivered  this  exordium,  his  voice  trembled,  his 
face  twitched  nervously,  his  whole  frame  shook 
with  intense  excitement;  and.  as  if  his  art  could 
excel  nature  herself,  every  word  he  spoke  received 


74 


JEAN  GRANT 


emphasis  from  a  fittins  wafture  of  the  hand,  facial 
gesture  or  motion  of  the  body.  The  devil  himself, 
who  sometimes  appears  as  an  angel  of  light,  could 
not  have  done  a  better  piece  of  acting. 

This  well-chosen  speech,  to  my  astonishment,  had 
produced  the  desired  effect.  It  had  appealed  to 
Jean's  pity.  It  had  touched  her  sympathy.  It 
disarmed  her  rising  anger  and  suspicion  and 
afforded  her  wily  companion  an  opportunity  of 
going  to  the  extreme  of  vituperation  and  slander 
towards  which  he  had  been  gravitating. 

"Oh!  Colonel  Windsor,  pardon  me  for  my 
unkind  and  inconsiderate  words.  Truly,  my  mind 
is  sorely  perplexed.  It  seems  as  if  I  were  scarcely 
myself.  So  many  thoughts  crowd  into  my  brain  at 
once,  that  I  am  confused,  and  scarcely  know  what 
I  say.  Forgive  me!  What  could  have  induced 
me  to  address  such  language  to  an  old  and  trusted 
friend?     Forgive  me!" 

"Ah,  my  dear  Jean,"  continued  Colonel  Wmd- 
sor,  rejoicing  in  her  perplexity,  "  I  have  nothing  to 
forgive.  I  am  glad  you  will  hear  me.  It  is  not  like 
you  to  be  uncivil.  Your  language  is  usually  like- 
■  yourself,  gentle,  loving,  confiding,  full  of  music  and 
sweetness.  You  wi/l  hear  me.  I  rejoice.  It  is 
painful  to  me  beyond  what  I  can  express.  To  you 
it  will  be  torture.  But  hear  it.  It  relates  to  your 
love,  your  happiness,  your  life." 

"  I  shall  hear  it,"  said  Jean,  almost  in  tears.     "  I 


:he  hand,  facial 

e  devil  himself, 

of  light,  could 

onishment,  had 
ad  appealed  to 
sympathy.  It 
suspicion  and 
opportunity  of 
ion  and  slander 
ing. 

n  me  for  my 
Truly,  my  mind 
I  were  scarcely 
into  my  brain  at 
:ely  know  what 
1  have  induced 
old  and  trusted 

Colonel  Wind- 
have  nothing  to 
e.  It  is  not  like 
»  is  usually  like- 
;ull  of  music  and 
I  rejoice.  It  is 
express.  To  you 
t  relates  to  your 

ost  in  tears.    "  I 


JEAJV  GRANT. 


75 


cannot    believe    anytliini,'    you     may    say   against 
Arthur,  but  I  will  hear  it  from  you  as  a  friend." 

1  now  perceived  more  clearly  than  ever  the  diffi- 
culty of  my  situation.     I  had  compromised  myself. 
Jean,    after   all,    was    but    human.     She    had    now 
consented  to  listen  to  this  man  breathing  out  false- 
hoods against  me.     Already  I  felt  myself  becoming 
angry  with  her.     Hut  what    if   she    should   believe 
him!     What     if    she    should    betray   the   slightest 
insincerity  or  inconstancy  toward  me  !     What  if  she 
should  let  drop  a  word  of  suspicion  or  conjecture  as 
to  my  past  life,  or  discredit,   even  by  her  silence, 
any  of  the  representations  I  had  made  to  her.     The 
moment  was  critical.     A  word,  a  laugh,  a  sigh  or  a 
tear  from  Jean  might  wreck  the  whole  of  our  antici- 
pated  happiness ;  might  fill  our  lives  with  the  gall 
of  bitterness.     Merciful   heaven  !     the  test  was  too 
severe.     Had  I  not  courted  the  defeat  of  my  fond- 
est   hopes?     Why  had    I    not    made   my   presence 
known?     Why   had    I    not     foreseen    what   might 
happen?     But   now,    too   late.     I   had   placed   my 
chances  on  the   cast   of  a  die.     I   had    helped  to 
weave  my  own  crown,  and,  whether  of  thorns  or  of 
roses,  I  must  wear  it.     Would  Jean  stand  the  test  ? 
I  hoped,  I  believed  she  would.     If  so,  my  revenge 
and   my  victory  would  be  sealed  at  once.     If  she 
wavered  in  one  point  all  would  be  lost. 

"Yes  ;  I  thought  you  would.     That  is  more  like 
you  ;  more  like  your  sober,  intelligent,  discriminat- 


76 


JEAN  GRANT. 


ing  mind.  Each  of  us  in  life  must  learn  and 
endure.  Better  know  facts  than  their  conse- 
quences. Better  know  where  the  adder  lies  than 
step  on  it.  Better,  Miss  Grant,  a  thousand  times 
better,  that  you  should  become  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Garland's  history  before  marriage,  than  to  have 
your  whole  life  embittered  by  learning  of  it,  as  you 
would  be  sure  to  do,  when  you  had  gone  too  far  to 
retrace  your  steps." 

"  Oh,  Colonel  Windsor,  surely  it  cannot  be  any- 
thing so  bad  as  that." 

"  You  shall  judge.  You  shall  hear.  I  have  no 
quarrel  with  Mr.  Garland.  Believe  me,  I  would  not 
wrong  the  young  man ;  I  am  more  anxious  to 
extenuate  than  to  aggravate  the  measure  of  his 
offence.  I  was  living  at  Boston  when  Mr.  Garland 
was  attending  school  there,  and  to  make  a  long 
story  short.  Miss  Grant,  I  may  say  that  he  betrayed 
and  ruined  one  of  the  most  beautiful  girls  in  that 
city.  Her  parents  were  very  poor,  but  she  was 
admired  by  all  for  her  Ijeauty  ard  her  innocence. 
She  afterwards  followed  him  to  California,  trudging 
across  the  continent  encumbered  by  the  token  of 
her  shame  until  she  stood  before  her  betrayer. 
Finding  that  he  closed  his  heart  to  her  appeals  and 
laughed  at  her  misfortune,  she  lost  her  reason  and 
died  in  a  mad-house." 

"  Oh,  Colonel  Windsor !  "  cried  my  much 
wronged   Jean,   and    swooned   away.      When    she 


must  learn  and 
han  their  conse- 
le  adder  lies  than 
a  thousand  times 

acquainted  with 
iage,  than  to  have 
rning  of  it,  as  you 
ad  gone  too  far  to 

it  cannot  be  any- 

hear.  I  have  no 
;e  me,  I  would  not 

more  anxious  to 
e  measure  of  his 
when  Mr.  Garland 

to  make  a  long 
y  that  he  betrayed 
utiful  girls  in  that 
loor,  but  she  was 
rd  her  innocence, 
lialifornia,  trudging 
d  by  the  token  of 
Fore  her  betrayer, 
to  her  appeals  and 
ist  her  reason  and 

cried  my  much 
way.      When    she 


JEAN  GRANT. 


77 


rallied,  she  found  herself  in  his  arms  pressed  closely 
to  his  breast.  At  once  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
exclaimed, — 

"Sir,  why  do  you  hold  me  in  this  way?  You 
have  no  right  to  do  so.  This,  that  you  tell  me 
about  Arthur  Garland,  is  false;  it  cannot  be  true. 
Tell  me  that  it  is  a  falsehood.  I  know  him  so  well ; 
I  respect  him  ;  I  confide  in  him  ;  I  love  him.  He 
could  not  treat  any  one  in  such  a  manner.  There 
must  be  some  dreadful  mistake." 

"Yes,  yes!  she  denied  it.  But  .she  hesitates, 
doubts.  Why  did  she  swoon  ?  She  must  inwardly 
believe  this  lie.  Can  she  believe  this  of  me  ?  If  so 
— if  so —  Oh,  I  shall  go  mad.  I  must  strike  now  ! 
No,  not  yet !  "    I  thought. 

"  Ha,  i.a,  ha  !  "  laughed  the  Colonel,  with  a  most 
malicious  voice.  "I  scarcely  expected  you  should 
believe  it.  But  facts  canno'  lie.  I  know  whereof 
I  speak.  It  was  my  misfortune  to  have  been  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  this  poor,  yet  worthy 
family,  whose  hearth  was  forever  darkened  by  the 
man  you  mean  to  marry.  Miss  Grant !  My  dear 
Miss  Grant  !  Pause  and  think.  You  will  not  marry 
this  man.  You  will  not  share  his  poverty  and  his 
shame.  You  will  not  leave  you  palatial  home  for 
the  squalid  hovel  he  will  furnish  you  in  the  meanest 
city  quarter.  Say  you  will  not.  Are  men  so 
scarce  ?  Your  mistaken  love  for  this  man  will  per- 
ish in  a  day  or  two.     Then  it  will  be  your  privilege 


««rJo— <    i-i?£.&--— KfeJC-W*''-'^ 


JEAN  GRANT. 


to  accept  the  hand  of  some  noble,  worthy  and 
wealthy  gentleman  whose  educatioi.  and  social 
standing  will  compare  with  your  own.  Think  what 
it  is  to  become  the  wife  of  such  a  man  ;  to  be  the 
brightest  ornament  of  his  home  ;  to  be  the  queen 
of  his  heart  ;  the  joy  of  his  life  ;  to  attract  the  ad- 
miration and  to  silence  the  envy  of  his  detractors;  to 
be  the  leader  in  the  circle  in  which  he  moves;  to 
employ  the  many  opportunities  of  doing  good  af- 
forded by  his  virtuous  and  exalted  character,  by  his 
vast  fortune  and  his  sympathetic  devotion  to  every 
philanthropic  movement."  >  -     , 

"Oh,  what  shall  I  do?"  exclaimed  Jean,  almost 
in  despair.  "  How  shall  I  ever  meet  him  again  ? 
How  shall  I  ever  trust  him  ?  Would  to  Heaven  you 
had  not  told  me  this;  for  though  I  cannot  believe 
it,  it  will  never  leave  my  memory.  What  shall  I 
do  ?  Where  shall  I  go  for  sympathy,  for  pity,  for 
the  truth  ?  I  cannot  believe  it.  Colonel  Windsor,  I 
cannot  believe  it.  He,  of  all  men  most  gentle,  lov- 
ing, pious  even,  to  be  the  author  of  such  infamy  ! 
Impossible  !  Oh,  my  heart  will  break  !  my  head  is 
bursting!     It  cannot  be." 

"  My  dear  Jean,  if  I  may  make  so  free  as  to  call 
you  that,  do  you  doubt  my  word  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  I  do  not  doubt  you.  But  there  must 
be  some  mistake.  It  cannot  be  he.  I'  canno*:  be 
Arthur  Garland  I     He  is  ':oo  good,  too  crue  !  "    ' 

"  My  dear  Jean,  I  sympathize    most   profoundly 


ble,  worthy  and 
itioii  and  social 
wn.  Think  what 
man  ;  to  be  the 
to  be  the  queen 

0  attract  the  ad- 
his  detractors;  to 
ch  he  moves;  to 
f  doing  good  af- 

character,  by  his 
evotion  to  every 

ned  Jean,  almost 
meet  him  again  ? 
Id  to  Heaven  you 

1  cannot  believe 
r.  What  shall  I 
ithy,  for  pity,  for 
alonel  Windsor,  I 
most  gentle,  lov- 
of  such  infamy  ! 
reak  !  my  head  is 

10  free  as  to  call 

But  there  must 
e.     I;    cap  no*:  be 
too  crue  ! " 
most   profoundly 


JEAN  GRANT. 


79 


with  you.  Were  it  possible  that  I  could  be  mis- 
taken, I  would  not  have  told  you  at  all.  There  can 
be  no  mistake.     There  /}  no  mistake." 

"  Then,  I  shall  know  all.  He  will  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes.  I  shall  ask  him  all  about  it.  I  shall 
quote  you  as  my  authority.  He  shall  explain  all 
satisfactorily,  or  forfeit  his  right  to  my  love  ! " 

"  Brave  Jean  !  you  are  now  yourself.  That  would 
be  a  proper  course.  But  how  about  me  5  Must  / 
because  I  played  the  part  of  a  friend  Lo  you,  forever 
bear  the  brunt  of  this  vicious  man's  anger  and  re- 
venge?    Surely  not!" 

"No,   no,   never;   you  shall  not  suffer.     I  must 
not  ask  him  for  an  explanation.     I  could  not  do  so  ' 
without  involving  you.     What  shall  I    do  ?    Oh    I 
pray  you,  Colonel  Windsor,  counsel    me   in   your 
wisdom  ;    direct  my  footsteps  in  this  perilous  hour. 
I  cannot  marry  Arthur  Garland  and  silently  nurse 
the  thought  through  life,  that   by  doing  so,  I  havp 
condoned  the  ruin  and  death  of  this  hapless  daugh- 
ter of  poverty.     I  cannot  reject  his  hand  without 
telling  him  my  reason  ;  and  I  cannot  even  mention 
the  affair  to  him  without  betraying  the  confidence 
of  my  dearest  friend.     Oh,  merciful  heaven!  what 
shall  I  do!"  exclaimed   the   duped   woman,    in   a 
passionate  outburst  of  tears. 

It  was  too  late  now  for  me  to  interpose  The 
spell  of  my  love  for  Jean  Grant  was  irretrievably 
broken.     My  pride,  my  anger,  rose  in  revolt.     She 


8o 


JEAN  GRANT. 


had  heard  the  wretch's  libels;    she  had  more  than 
half    believed   them.     Most  cruel  of   all,   she   had 
expressed   her   willingness   to   reject   my  love,    re- 
fuse  my   hand  and  defeat  our  intended   marriage 
rather  than  give  me  the  name   of   her   informant. 
Jean    had  broken  faith   with  me.      No   power,    no 
inducement    could   now   have    led    me    to    marry 
her.      I    would   choose  rather  to  roam  the   earth, 
a  hopeless  pilgrim,  an  outcast  from  society,  hated 
of  all   men,   and   a   hater  of  all.     I    would  prefer 
to  spend  the  remainder  of  my  life  pining  in  some 
dungeon,  forgotten  and  unknown.     Oh  God !  what 
xruel  fate  !     In  the  midst  of  my  anger,  I  felt  some- 
thing  beyond   common    sorrow     for    Jean.      Jean 
Grant !    my   darling  Jean !    my    poor,   lost   Jean  ! 
duped  by  a  villain  !  swayed  from  the  true,  honest 
purpose  of  her  innocent  heart  by  the  flattery  and 
the   falsehood   of  one  of  the  most  degenerate  of 
men  !     But  I  tore  this  pity,  this  sorrow,  this  charity, 
from  my  In  art  and  threw  it  beneath  my  feet.     Why 
had  she  yielded  ?     Why  had   she   listened  ?     Why 
had  she  believed  ?     Fool,  fool,  fool !  and  I  ?     What 
had  I  done  to  deserve  it  ?     True,  I  should  not  have 
allowed  Jean  to  walk  in  the   path  of  temptation. 
When  I   first  heard  her  in  converse  with  Colonel 
Windsor,  I   should  have    rushed  to   her  side  and 
snatched  her  to  my  breast  as  if  she  had  been  play- 
ing with  a  reptile,  to  touch  which  would  be  death. 
Still  I  felt  a  fierce,  almost  maniacal,  gladness  that  I 


JEAN  GRANT. 


%\ 


e  had  more  than 
I  of  all,  she  had 
ject  my  love,  re- 
itended  marriage 
)f  her  informant. 
No  power,  no 
d    me    to    marry 

roam  the  earth, 
om  society,  hated 
I  would  prefer 
fe  pining  in  some 
.  Oh  God!  what 
nger,  I  felt  some- 

for    Jean.      Jean 

poor,  lost  Jean  ! 
1  the  true,  honest 
y  the  flattery  and 
ost  degenerate  of 
jrrow,  this  charity, 
.th  my  feet.  Why 
s  listened  ?  Why 
ol !  and  I  ?     What 

I  should  not  have 
ith  of  temptation, 
'erse  with  Colonel 
[  to  her  side  and 
lie  had  been  play- 
h  would  be  death. 
;al,  gladness  that  I 


had  not  done  so.  Jean  was  not  true.  She  had 
been  deceiving  me  all  along,  possibly  without  know- 
ing  It.  Had  we  been  married,  her  deceit  and  hoi- 
low-heartedness  must  sooner  or  later  have  manifested 
themselves,  with  still  more  awful  consequences 

Better  now  ;  better,  far  better,  that  I  should  en- 
dure  my  present  disappointment,  mortification  and 
resentment,  than  that  we  should  have,  by  the  union 
of  unholy  hands,  entailed  upon  ourselves  the  curse 
which,  by  divine  decree,  as  well  as.  by  the  laws  of 
nature,  is  pronounced  upon  a  loveless  marriage. 

This  thought  temporarily  hushed  the  storm  of  my 
passion,  and  cooled  my  heart  so  suddenly  that  it 
became  a  stone.     What  cared  I  ?     I  felt  like  burst- 
ing  out  in  a   long,   loud   ring   of   laughter  at   the 
hideous   mockery  and    the   double-dyed    hypocrisy 
tliat  marked  the  scene  :     Without   emotion,  I  saw 
Colonel  Windsor,  through  the  lattice,  taking  Jean's 
white  hand  in  his  own  and  chafing  it  tenderly;  saw 
him  examine  with  scornful  scrutiny  the  large  dia- 
mend  ring  I  had  placed  upon  her  finger  to  seal  the 
vows  of  our  betrothal ;  saw  its  brilliant  scintillations 
flash  out  in  the  mellow  moonlight,  as  if  to  appeal 
against  the  touch  of  his  traitor  ous  fingers  ;  without 
emotion,  I  saw  him  remove  it  from  her  finder  and 
place  thereon  a  much  larger  and  brighter  on^e  of  his 
own.     To  all  this,  she.  still  sobbing,  tearfully  as- 
sented      I  did  not  feel  angry  or  envious  or  remorse- 
tul,  as  I  saw  him  draw  her  closer  and  closer  to  his 


82 


JEAN  GRANT. 


side,  until  her  head  drooped  upon  his  breast  and  his 
arm  encircled  her  neck.  I  could  even  hear  every 
whispering  word  of  endearment  with  which  he  tried 
to  win  her  affection.  His  plan  had  worked  to  a 
miracle.  She  had  compromised  hereelf.  She  was 
now  completely  within  his  power;  he  had  only  to 
dictate  and  she  would  obey  ;  he  had  only  to  sug- 
gest and  she  would  act ;  ho  had  only  to  lead  and 
she  would  follow. 

His  demands  grew  bolder.  His  voice  became 
soft,  low  and  plaintive.  I  heard  him  exclaim 
with  all  the  passionate  devotion  of  a  rustic  mak- 
ing his  first  proposal— "  Jean !  Jean!  my  beau- 
tiful, my  dearest !  Let  me  aid  you,  let  me  direct 
you,  let  me  love  you!  Oh,  Jean!  At  last, 
at  last  I  have  found  courage  and  occasion  to 
Owpress  my  love  for  you  !  I  love  you,  I  love 
you  !  Never  man  loved  woman  as  I  love  yoi'  ! 
Never  woman  so  lovely,  so  good,  so  pure  as 
you.  Let  me  call  you  mine,— mine  for  life,  my 
own,  my  love,  my  wife !  Let  me  shield  you 
from  the  perils  of  this  hour,  from  the  intrigues  of  a 
designing  adventurer,  from  every  rough  blast  that 
blows  across  the  desert  of  this  ungrateful  world. 
To-night— yes ;  to-night  even  now,  I  am  prei  -d 
to  make  you  my  wife,  my  queen  ;  to  make  you 
the   happiest   and   most    loved   wife   in  this  ^reat 

Republic  ! " 

"  Fairest  of  women !  accept  my  love,  my  name. 


is  breast  and  his 
2ven  hear  every 
h  which  he  tried 
ad  worked  to  a 
ereelf.  She  was 
he  had  only  to 
liad  only  to  sug- 
Dnly  to  lead  and 

is  voice  became 
rd  him  exclaim 
of  a  rustic  mak- 
Jean!  my  beau- 
au,  let  me  direct 
Jean !  At  last, 
md  occasion  to 
>ve   you,    I    love 

as  I  love  yoi' ! 
od,  so  pure  as 
line   for  life,  my 

me  shield  you 
he  intrigues  of  a 
rough  blast  that 
ungrateful  world. 
,    I  am    prei     .d 

;  to  make  you 
ife   in  this  ^reat 

f  love,  my  name. 


/EAJV  GRANT. 


83 


my  fortune  ;  and  be  my  wife.  Do  not  subject 
yourself  to  the  humiliation  of  asking  an  explana- 
tion from  Mr.  Garland.  Of  course,  he  would 
deny  it  all.  Yet,  it  is  true,  it  is  true  !  Before 
heaven  I  have  told  you  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  have  taken  his  ring 
off  your  finger.  I  have  placed  my  own  upon  it.  I 
have  sealed  our  affection  by  a  kiss  upon  your  brow. 
Let  me  call  you  my  wife  and  seal  our  love  upon 
your  lips." 

Weak  woman!  The  farce  was  over.  Jean  was 
won  by  another,  and  I  was  lost.  She  turned  her 
tear-wet  face  upwards  to  receive  his  fatal  kiss,  and  I 
knew  that  Jean  Grant's  life  and  mine  were  forever 
separated. 

As  soon  as  he  had  imprinted  the  kiss  that  sealed 
the  compact,  he  said : 

"  At  once !  Veil  your  face.  Accompany  me  to 
the  village.  If  you  remain  here,  he  may  come  and 
cause  trouble.  Nevermind  your  wardrobe  !  I  shall 
procure  for  you  in  New  York  a  more  gorgeous 
trousseau  than  the  one  you  leave.  In  fifteen  min- 
utes our  carriage  shall  be  ready  to  start.  We  shall 
stop  at  ^  small  village  between  here  and  the  city 
long  enough  to  be  married.  Oh,  my  love!  my 
life !  even  to-night  you  shall  be  my  wife  !     Come." 

She  took  his  arm.  For  a  moment  he  paused,  and 
saying  in  a  contemptuous  tone,  "  Like  this  bauble 
let  Arthur  Garland's  hopes  be  lost,"  he  threw  my 


•SWfflKiiitMii-fti.".  (.:±«:^.«nia^)BW:^»^>^ 


«J^Bi*fi±«?S*litti«7«3HS»:«SJ#.?*!:ij^«caisS;^^  I.  . 


84 


JEAN'  GRANT. 


ring  far  down  into  the  pine  copse  that  stood  in  the 
little  valley  just  outside  the  lawn. 

My  passion  rose  again.  Decision  at  last  came  to 
me.  In  a  moment  I  stood  before  the  horrified  pair. 
Jean  uttered  a  loud,  piercing  scream  and  sank  insen- 
sible to  the  earth. 

Colonel  Windsor  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  un- 
able, in  his  petrifaction,  to  move  a  muscle. 

"Villain!  coward!  betrayer!"  I  muttered  sav- 
agely. 

His  senses,  after  an  instant,  returned  ;  his  right 
hand  stole  to  his  hip  pocket. 

I  divined  his  intention,  knowing  by  painful  ex- 
perience, his  unexampled  treachery,  and  quick  as  a 
flash,  I  struck  him  a  terrible  blow  on  the  right  tern- 
pie  with  my  clenched  hand,  and  as  he  fell  to  the 
earth,  like  a  dead  man,  his  cocked  revolver  dropped 
from  his  nerveless  hand  to  the  grass.  I  picked  it 
up,  and,  taking  it  by  tiie  muzzle,  threw  it  far  down 
into  the  dark  clump  of  pine  into  which  my  ring  had 
a  few  moments  before  been  thrown. 


at  stood  in  the 

at  last  came  to 
e  horrified  pair, 
and  sank  insen- 

the  ground,  un- 
luscle. 
muttered   sav- 

rned  ;  his  right 

by  painful  ex- 
,  and  quick  as  a 
n  the  right  tem- 
1  he  fell  to  the 
evolver  dropped 
iss.  I  picked  it 
rew  it  far  down 
ich  my  ring  had 


CHAPTER   X. 

I  TURNED  my  face  away  from  this  scene  of  my 
own  abasement.  I  dashed  madly  along  the  wide 
gravel  path  leading  to  the  street.  The  moon 
nearly  full,  rode  high  in  the  starry  dome,  and  made 
the  earth  effulgent  with  her  light.  It  was  almost  as 
clear  as  day.  As  I  hurried  along  toward  the  gate, 
the  faces  and  figures  of  the  sculptures  were  dis- 
tinctly visible.  These,  and  every  other  one  of  the 
familiar  objects,  struck  my  burning  imagination 
with  indescribable  pain,  recalling  days  and  scenes 
that  never  would  return  ;  faces  and  friends  dearer  to 
me  than  my  life,  now  parted  forever ;  hopes  enkin-  • 
died  by  a  woman's  love,  and  shattered  by  her  decep- 
tion. 

Swifter  than  words  can  describe,  years  of  happi- 
ness  and  promise  rushed  through  my  heart,  through 
my  brain,  and  departed  forever,  leaving  in  their 
stead  the  dregs  of  hope,  the  withered  leaves  of 
blighted  promise,  the  black  mausoleum  of  disap- 
pointed love  and  the  insatiable  void  of  wasted 
afifection.  As  I  closed  the  latch  of  the  gate,  and 
took  a  farewell  look  at  Dunmore's  stately  and 
massive  form,  standing  out  clear  and  beautiful,  its 


86 


JEAN  CRANT. 


glittering  turrets  reflecting  the  surpassing  grandeur 
of  the  constellated  heavens,  I  seemed  to  hear  a 
voice,  sweet  but  sad,  crying,  "Come  back!  come 
back !  Stay  thy  steps  !  Return,  and  all  will  be 
well!"  "In  vain!  Too  late !  too  late  !"  responded 
my  sickened  heart. 

Onward  I  dashed  down  the  little  hill,  at  the  foot 
of  which  there  stood  the  sombre,  silent,  pine-copse, 
with  here  and  there  a  poplar,  its  silvery  leaves  trem- 
bling as  if  to  imitate  the  twinkling  stars.  There, 
too,  purled  the  little  stream,  beside  which  Jean  and 
I  had  often  sat  indulging  in  castle-building,  plan- 
ning ever  some  new  and  more  transporting  delight 
for  our  wedded  life.  Swollen  slightly  by  the  sum- 
mer rains,  it  gambolled  and  leaped  in  mirthful 
music  over  its  pebbly  channel,  and  crept  with 
muffled  ripple  into  the  slumbering  copse.  Its  music 
and  its  mirth  were  the  same  as  of  yore,  but  how 
chani^ed  was  my  heart!  How  changed  was  hers! 
Oh,  God !  what  misery,  what  spoliation,  what  tor- 
ture may  be  inflicted  upon  one  human  heart  by  the 
perversity  of  another ! 

I  crossed  the  narrow  bridge  spanning  this  stream. 
To  me,  this  was  the  bridge  of  fate.  How  often,  in 
boyhood's  happy  hours,  had  my  froward  feet  crossed 
and  recrossed  its  narrow  span.  How  little  did  I  then 
think  that  this  insignificant  structure  should  mark 
the  two  great  turning  points  of  my  life.  Here  had 
I  been  waylaid  and  left  for  dead.     From  here  I 


JEAN  GRANT. 


8; 


passing  grandeur 
;med  to  hear  a 
me  back !  come 
and  all  will  be 
ate  !  "  responded 

hill,  at  the  foot 
ilent,  pine-copse, 
/ery  leaves  trem- 
ig  stars.     There, 

which  Jean  and 
e-building,  plan- 
isporting  delight 
itly  by  the  sum- 
)ed  in  mirthful 
and  crept  with 
:opse.  Its  music 
f  yore,  but  how 
anged  was  hers ! 
iation,  what  tor- 
nan  heart  by  the 

ning  this  stream. 
.  How  often,  in 
vard  feet  crossed 
A^  little  did  I  then 
Lire  should  m.ark 
life.  Here  had 
From  here  I 


had  been  carried  to  Dunniorc  to  be  nursed  by  the 
woman  whose  love  I  wished  to  win.  Mer  love  I 
had  won— perhaps  her  affected  love  merely— I  will 
not  say,  I  will  not  judge.  I  now  crossed  this  bridye 
for  the  last  time,  having  failed  in  everything,  having 
lost  all.  This  bridge,  once  crossed,  separated  me, 
by  more  than  a  metaphor,  from  Dunmore,  from 
Jean,  forever 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  me.     I  stand  on 

this  spot  for  a  minute  or  two.  I  must,  for  one 
brief  memorable  moment,  stand  on  this  fatal  spot, 
and  let  the  thoughts  which  its  association  conjured 
up,  throng  on  me  as  they  would.  I  did  so.  That 
moment  seemed  like  an  awful  dream,  a  phantasma- 
goria of  woe  and  hate  and  envy  and  deformity. 

I  turned  to  continue  my  walk  towards  the  village, 
but  I  walked  as  one  not  knowing  whither  he  went. 
I  was  walking  in  a  dream,  a  terrible  dream,  such  as 
Dante  depicted  in  his  immortal  "  Inferno." 

I  was  vaguely  aware  that  a  carriage  containing 
two  ladies,  stopped  in  front  of  me,  and  that  I  heard 
and  recognized  the  voices  of  Mrs.  Sherman  and 
Leonore  addressing  me.  I  heard  them  calling  my 
name  in  accents  of  terror  and  surprise.  What  else 
they  said  I  remember  not.  What  I  did  or  how  I 
answered  them,  I  know  not. 

By  some  strange  instinct,  I  staggered  on  to  the 
depot,  and  boarded  the  city-bound  train.  I  threw 
myself  into  a  seat  and  sank  into  night's  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

For  a  month,  I  lay  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness, 
my  mind  raging  with  the  delirium  of  typhoid. 
When  I  came  to  myself,  I  occupied  a  private  ward 
in  a  New  York  hospital.  For  some  time  my  mind 
seemed  wrapt  in  clouds  and  mists.  I  could  not 
realize  my  position.  I  spoke  to  the  nurse.  "Pray 
good  lady,"  I  said,  "how  came  I  hither?  What 
place  is  this?  Observation  informs  me  that  it  is  a 
hospital.  But  what  brought  me  here?  Have  I  been 
sick?  Have  I  been  the  victim  of  an  accident? 
Wh;.*:  has  been  the  matter  ?  What  is  the  name  of 
this  iflace?  " 

"  Pray  sir,  do  not  let  these  trifles  give  you  any 
concern.  You  have  been  ill — very  ill.  I  shall  tell 
you  no  more  at  present.  In  a  few  days,  when  you 
will  have  recovered  more  of  your  strength,  1  shall 
answer  all  your  questions.  I  shall  consider  it  a 
pleasing  duty.  At  present,  Mr.  Garland,  I  must 
insist  upon  rest  and  silence  as  the  proper  course 
for  you." 

"  Mr.  Garland  ?  "  I  muttered  to  myself.  "How 
does  she  know  my  name  ?  " 

Turning    my    pleasantest   and   most  beseeching 


ii 


;r 


'J 

ll 


unconsciousness, 
\m  of  typhoid. 
I  a  private  ward 
e  time  my  mind 
ts.  I  could  not 
e  nurse.  "  Pray 
hither?  What 
IS  me  that  it  is  a 
e  ?  Have  I  been 
of  an  accident? 
:  is  the  name  of 

:s  give  you  any 

ill.     I  shall  tell 

days,  when  you 

strength,  1  shall 

all  consider  it  a 

Garland,   I  must 

he  proper  course 

myself.     "  How 

mo5t  beseeching 


<? 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Microfiche 

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Collection  de 
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Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


JEAN  GRANT. 


look  upon  the  girl  who,  by  the  way  seemed  fair, 
gentle,  and  sympathetic  to  a  fault,  I  pleaded — "  My 
dear  young  lady,  you  are  very  kind.  I  am  very 
glad,  whatever  my  misfortune  has  been,  to  have  had 
so  efficient  a  nurse.  And  now,  I  crave  at  your 
hands  a  favor,  an  indulgence.  There  are  some  hor- 
rid, confused  thoughts  in  my  brain  which  will  drive 
me  mad,  unless  I  get  them  cleared  up.  Tell  me,  no 
matter  at  what  cost  to  myself,  where  I  am,  and  how 
I  came  to  this  place?" 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  would  much  rather  not.  I  must 
not  transgress  my  instructions.  But  I  may  say 
that  you  are  in  New  York.  Nearly  a  month  ago, 
I  understand,  you  were  found  in  a  Pullman  coach 
which  reached  the  city,  in  a  dying  condition.  You 
had  been  stricken  down  on  your  journey,  by  a  most 
malignant  type  of  typhoid.  The  next  day.  a  young 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Wentworth  brought  you 
here.  He  said  he  was  a  relative  of  yours.  He  bade 
us  spare  no  pains  or  expense  in  restoring  you  to 
health.  He  remained  for  a  fortnight  or  more  in  the 
city,  and  called  to  inquire  for  you  several  times 
daily.  As  soon  as  you  were  pronounced  out  of 
danger,  he  returned  home.  Each  morning's  post 
brings  a  letter  of  inquiry  from  him  which  I  answer 
by  the  evening  mail.  His  address  is  Seaton — Mr. 
George  Wentworth,  Seaton,  N.  Y." 

"  Wentworth  !  Wentworth  !  Seaton !  George 
Wentworth,  Seaton !    Ah  !  "  I  gasped,  clutching  my 


''-\y  ■'. 
■''''     { 


go 


JEAN  GRANT. 


forehead  in  my  burning  palms.  Slowly,  link  bj- 
link,  the  horrible  phantom  revealed  itself.  George 
Wentworth  !  Seaton  !  Dunmore  I  Leonorc  Sherman  ! 
Jean  Grant!  Ah!  That's  a  terrible  pang!  Jean 
Grant !  What  is  it?  Oh,  my  brain  will  burst  while 
I  wrestle  with  some  slow — returning  memory. 
What !  what !  Ah,  that's  it.  Now,  now,  I've  got  it! 
Jean  Grant,  my  Jean !  My  beloved,  my  own,  my 
darling  Jean!  Ah,  what  a  solace  in  that  thought! 
My  brain  is  cool  once  more  !  The  fever  has  left  me. 
I  remember  all  now,"  I  said  to  my  nurse  who  sat 
near  by  patiently  watching  me.     "  I  remember  all." 

"That  is  well,"  she  smilingly  replied,  you  will 
rest  better  now." 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  well !  it  is  well.  Where  is  Jean  ? 
Why  is  she  not  here?  Ah,  how  strange!  We  were 
to  have  been  married  !  Why  not  married  ?  Why  not  ? 
Could  she  be  false  ?  Had  I  a  rival?  No;  not  now. 
I  had  once.  Who?  Colonel  Windsor!  Colonel 
Windsor!  By  heaven,  I  will  kill  him!  He  has 
robbed  me  of  my  love.  He  has  ruined  me.  Now, 
now,  I  have  it  indeed  !  I  will  kill  him  !  I  will  kill 
him,"  I  shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  springing 
from  my  bed  in  the  strength  of  my  paroxysm. 

Once  more,  I  relapsed  into  unconsciousness.  It 
was  long  before  I  had  completely  regained  my 
bodily  strength  and  mental  tone.  Over  and  over 
again,  I  studied  the  strange  experiences  I  had 
passed  through  at  Seaton.     I  wondered  if  Jean  had 


I 


lowly,  link  b}- 
itself.  George 
)nore  Sherman ! 
ie  pang!  Jean 
will  burst  while 
•ning  memory, 
low,  I've  got  it! 
,  my  own,  my 
that  thought! 
iver  has  left  me. 
y  nurse  who  sat 
remember  all." 
plied,  you   will 

/here  is  Jean  ? 
nge !  We  were 
ied?  Why  not? 

No ;  not  now. 
iidsor!  Colonel 
him !  He  has 
ned  me.  Now, 
lim  !  I  will  kill 
voice,  springing 
paroxysm, 
nsciousness.  It 
y   regained   my 

Over  and  over 
eriences  I  had 
ired  if  Jean  had 


1 


JEAN  GRANT. 


91 


fied  with  her  guilty  abductor.  I  wondered  if  Mrs. 
Sherman  and  Leonore  had  become  acquainted  with 
the  facts  of  the  case.  Did  they  know  the  cause  of 
my  sudden  departure  from  Scaton  ?  Was  it  not  pos- 
sible that  my  action  might  have  been  misconstrued? 

George  Wentworth  called  on  me  several  times  in 
the  hospital,  but  we  never  allowed  our  conversation 
to  touch  that  painful  subject.  He  was  too  consider- 
ate of  my  feelings ;  I,  too  proud  to  refer  to  it. 

Yet  I  would  have  given  my  right  arm  to  know 
what  happened  at  Dunmore  after  I  left,  and  what 
interpretation  my  friends,  and  the  world  at  large, 
had  put  upon  my  conduct.  How  should  I  find  out? 
I  was  at  my  wit's  ends.  Suddenly,  I  thought  of  the 
press ;  of  the  omniscient  eye  and  the  omnipresent 
pen  of  the  modern  reporter.  I  despatched  a  mes- 
senger for  the  leading  city  papers  of  the  date  of  my 
departure  from  Seaton,  and  waited  impatiently  for 
his  return.  I  was  not  disappointed.  The  Herald's 
description  of  the  affair  was — 

"ELOPEMENT. 


AN  EXCITING  ROMANCE  AT  SEATON. 


How    a  Gilded,    Unscrupulous    Adventurer   from 
South  Captured  the  Belle  and  Richest 
Heiress  of  the  Village. 


the 


An  Engagement  Broken— A  Valuable  Trousseau  thrown 

aside— A  Lover  Driven  Mad,  while  a  Dashing 

Fop  carries  off  the  Prize. 


':i:;''Vi 


■«t1 


.1*1,-: 


92  JEAN  GRANT. 

• 

"Seaton. — A  most  exciting  romance  has  just 
happened  in  this  village.  Mrs.  Sherman  and  her  two 
daughters,  Jean  and  Leonore,  are  the  wealthiest 
family  in  the  county.  Jean  and  Leonore  are  very 
beautiful,  and  are  reputed  to  be  worth  a  million 
each.  Jean  has  for  several  years  been  engaged  to 
Arthur  Garland,  the  highly  esteemed  son  of  an  old 
resident  of  this  place.  He  struck  luck  in  the  Cali- 
fornia gold  mines,  and  returned  for  his  bride. 
Everything  was  ready  for  the  wedding  on  Wednes- 
day of  this  week.  The  guests  were  all  invited  and 
the  trousseau,  which  is  said  to  be  gorgeous,  was 
fully  completed,  and  sent  down  from  New  York 
last  night. 

"  A  few  days  ago  a  dashing  young  Southerner, 
with  splendid  black  eyes,  good  appearance  and  ad- 
dress, and  any  amount  of  cheek,  fine  clothes  and 
jewelry,  struck  the  town,  ostensibly  on  ofificial 
business.  He  soon  sized  up  the  town.  Learning  of 
Mrs.  Sherman's  circumstances,  he  manipulated  mat- 
ters so  as  to  procure  an  introduction  to  her  and  her 
daughters.  He  laid  siege  to  Jean's  heart  and 
stormed  that  citadel  successfully.  He  dubbed  him- 
self '  Colonel,'  talked  a  great  deal  of  twaddle  about 
his  birth,  parentage  and  so  on,  and  occasionally 
hinted,  with  affected  modesty,  of  his  immense 
wealth  and  influence.  At  last  Jean  succumbed  to 
his  persistence.  While  her  mother  and  sister  were 
out  of  town  last  evening,  she  eloped  with  the  '  Col- 
onel.' But  the  most  exciting  part  is  to  follow. 
Young  Garland  was  on  his  way  to  Mrs.  Sherman's 
to  spend  the  evening  with  Jean,  when  he  met  his 
faithless  sweetheart  just  starting  off  with  '  Colonel ' 
Windsor.  Jean  fainted,  and  Garland,  who  has  plenty 
of  muscle  and  pluck,  pitched  into  Windsor  and  gave 


JEAN  GRANT. 


93 


nance  has  just 
lan  and  her  two 
the  wealthiest 
onore  are  very 
ivorth  a  million 
)een  engaged  to 
;d  son  of  an  old 
luck  in  the  Cali- 
for  his  bride, 
ing  on  Wednes- 
2  all  invited  and 
-  gorgeous,  was 
om    New   York 

ing  Southerner, 
)earance  and  ad- 
fine  clothes  and 
ibly  on  official 
n.  Learning  of 
lanipulated  mat- 
n  to  her  and  her 
:an's  heart  and 
He  dubbed  him- 
■  twaddle  about 
md  occasionally 
)f  his  immense 
n  succumbed  to 
r  and  sister  were 
d  with  the  '  Col- 
rt  is  to  follow. 
Mrs.  Sherman's 
vhen  he  met  his 
[  with  '  Colonel ' 
1,  who  has  plenty 
Windsor  and  gave 


him  a  tremendous  thrashing.  Garland  then  took  the 
night  train  for  New  York,  and  the  despatches  of  this 
morning  say  that  he  lias  become  mentally  deranged. 
Windsor  gathered  up  what  was  left  of  himself  and 
his  bride,  drove  to  New  York  and  was  married  last 
night.  The  affair  has  evoked  fiitense  excitement  in 
the  little  village.  All  sorts  of  rumors  are  afloat. 
One  is  to  the  effect  that  Garland  once  worsted 
Windsor  in  a  duel  and  that  the  latter  has  now  had 
his  revenge.  Much  sympathy  is  felt  for  young 
Garland,  who  is  a  universal  favorite,  and  the  opinion 
is  freely  expressed  that  this  beautiful  young  heiress 
has  rejected  a  very  worthy  and  promising  young 
gentleman  and  has  absol'itely  thrown  herself  away 
on  a  worthless  adventurer." 


From  this  off-hand  synopsis,  not  strictly  in 
accordance  with  the  facts  of  the  case  in  every  par- 
ticular, yet  setting  forth  in  a  general  way  its  main 
features,  I  learned  that  the  impression  left  on  the 
public  mind  was  favorable,  and,  I  may  say,  just, 
towards  me.  "  Colonel  "  Windsor  was  characterized 
in  language  indicating  that  he  was  known  to  the 
public  as  a  notorious,  not  to  say  infamous,  charac- 
ter. Doubtless,  the  additional  facts  necessary  to  do 
complete  justice  to  my  conduct,  would  long  ere 
this,  have  been  disclosed  to  Leonore  and  her  mother, 
by  George  Wentworth.  I  cared  little  whether  or 
not  every  particular  became  known  to  the  public,  as 
I  should  never  again  show  my  face  whtic  I  was 
known;  but  I   woi,s  solicitous,  intensely  solicitous, 


ji»A*'* 


94 


JEAN  GRANT. 


that  my  good  friends  at  Dunmore  should  be  in  the 
possession  of  the  whole  truth.  Their  good  opinion 
was  the  only  thing,  along  with  the  friendship  of 
VVentworth,  which  I  now  wished  to  cherish.  On 
the  whole,  I  w  „  not  displeased  with  the  reports 
circulated  by  the  newspapers.  They  declared  that 
I  was  mentally  deranged.  This  would  make  the 
public  which  has  no  faculty  for  expending  thought 
on  lunatics  or  imbeciles,  discard  me  from  its  mind 
as  if  I  were  dead ;  dead  to  the  public  mind,  I 
would  soon  be  forgotten,  and,  in  this  way,  would  be 
enabled  to  make  a  new  start  in  life. 

Indeed,  such  an  experience  as  I  had  passed 
through,  re-creates  a  man.  I  was  a  new  man  in 
all  but  name.  I  was  starting  out  with  a  new  birth, 
a  new  complexion  stamped  upon  my  very  nature, 
new  hopes,  new  ambitions,  a  new  religion  even,  as 
far  as  my  relation  to  my  fellow-men  was  concerned. 
But  I  must  go  where  I  was  not  known,  where  my 
presence  and  my  name  would  not  revive  odious 
comparisons  and  painful  memories. 

I  saw  Wentworth  frequently.  From  him  I 
learned  that  the  whole  truth  of  the  affair  was 
known  to  Leonore  and  her  mother.  I  had  their 
sympathy.  They  wished  me  to  come  and  see  them. 
They  were  heart-broken.  Jean's  conduct  had  dis- 
graced them.  They  had  lost  all  trace  of  her.  The 
pair  had  been  seen  in  New  York.  Further  than 
that   nothing    was    known    about    them.     Colonel 


liould  be  in  the 
ir  good  opinion 
e  friendship  of 
o  cherish.  On 
ith  the  reports 
y  declared  that 
ould  make  the 
ending  thought 
from  its  mind 
pubUc  mind,  I 
s  way,  would  be 

I  had  passed 
a  new  man  in 
ith  a  new  birth, 
ly  very  nature, 
eligion  even,  as 
was  concerned, 
own,  where  my 
revive   odious 

From  him  I 
the  affair  was 
r.  I  had  their 
e  and  see  them, 
induct  had  dis- 
:e  of  her.  The 
.  Further  than 
them.     Colonel 


JEAN  GRANT. 


95 


Windsor  was  not  enrolled  on  the  army  list.  Went- 
worth  believed,  with  mc,  that  Jean  had  fallen  into  a 
dangerous  alliance.  Leonore  and  her  mother  had 
tried  in  vain  to  ascertain  her  whereabouts. 

"  By  Jove,  Garland,"  said  Wentworlh,  "  I  had  no 
idea  my  joke  would  prove  so  very  distressing.  He 
thinks  he  has  married  an  heiress ;  when  he  finds  out 
his  mistake,  he  may  send  her  home  penniless  and 
disgraced  ;  there  is  nothing  vile  he  would  not  do  ; 
he  may  even  kill  Iier  !  " 

I  was  too  indifferent  to  speculate.  I  only  list- 
ened. I  decided  to  get  out  of  New  York  as  soon 
as  I  could  do  so.  Of  my  intentions  I  gave  VVent- 
worth  no  inkling.  If  I  wished  him  to  know  where 
I  was,  I  could  write  him  ;  otherwise  I  would  be 
absent,  forgotten — dead  to  the  world  1 


;I1 


■m'i 


SjCf^t^*"**'*" 


CHAPTER  XII.  * 

I  LEFT  New  York  and  took  passage  for  Cali- 
fornia.  I  visited  my  former  haunts.  Those  of  my 
old  friends  who  still  remained  to  the  fore,  were 
much  struck  with  my  cluuiged  condition  of  mind 
and  actions.    They  exercised  their  curiosity  in  vain. 

This  time,  I  was  not  seeking  to  augment  my 
wealth.  My  income  was  now  more  than  adequate 
to  a  life  of  travel,  and  my  idea  was  to  pass  from 
country  to  country,  kill  time  as  best  I  could,  and 
await  with  indifference  life's  final  doom.  I  formed 
no  new  friendships.  Society  had  no  meaning  to 
me.  I  had  little  faith  in  man,  and  none  at  all  in 
woman.  The  more  beautiful  the  woman,  the  more 
she  disgusted  me  ;  and  the  smile  of  a  female  turned 
my  heart  into  fire.  I  had  no  object  in  life.  Even 
my  scheme  of  wandering  was  of  the  vaguest  possi- 
ble character.  I  had  no  plan  laid  out.  I  knew  not 
when  I  should  leave  one  part  of  the  earth  for 
another.  It  might  be  in  a  day,  in  a  month  or  in  a 
year.  I  had  no  guide  in  such  matters,  save  impulse 
or,  vagary,  if  you  like,  I  knew  not  what  country  I 
should  next  visit.  My  ideas  of  right  and  wrong 
had    become    confused.      Sunday   might    find    me 


JEAN  GRANT. 


97 


sage  for   Cali- 

Those  of  my 

he   fore,    were 

lition  of  mind 

riosity  in  vain. 

augment  my 

than  adequate 

to  pass  from 

t  I  could,  and 

im.     I  formed 

o  meaning  to 

none  at  all  in 

nan,  the  more 

female  turned 

in  life.     Even 

vaguest  possi- 

t.     I  knew  not 

the   earth    for 

month  or  in  a 

;,  save  impulse 

I'hat  country  I 

fht  and  wrong 

light   find    me 


attending  divine  worship,  Monday  find  me  gambling 
at  faro. 

After  spending  several  months  in  the  Golden 
State,  I  stepped  aboard  the  mail  steamer,  Grand 
Pacific,  bound  for  Melbourne,  Australia.  As  the 
vessel  swings  from  the  pier,  I  see  among  the  crowd 
that  wafts  us  their  adieux  a  tall,  dark  man,  standing 
with  his  side  face  towards  me,  addressing  a  lad>'. 
It  looks  like  Colonel  Windsor.  I  strain  my  eyes.  He 
turns  towards  me.  It  is  he!  The  lady?  I  see  her 
clearly.  Young,  fair,  smiling,  but  it  is  not  his  wife  ; 
it  is  not  Jean.  "  Poor  Jean  !  your  punishment  there- 
fore is  greater,  I  fear,  than  you  can  bear!  " 

Arrived  in  that  great  isolated  continent,  I  made 
a  rapid  survey  of  it,  passing  from  Melbourne  to 
Sydney,  thence  to  Brisbane,  thence  back  to  Ade- 
laide, thence  to  Perth,  whence  I  sailed  around  the 
western  and  northern  coasts  and  spent  a  few  d?ys 
in  the  small  Dutch  settlement  at  the  extreme  south 
of  New  Guinea.  From  there,  I  took  ship  for 
British  India  ;  and,  after  visiting  points  of  interest 
in  nearly  every  country  of  Asia  and  Europe,  I  at 
last  found  myself  in  the  capital  of  the  world,  Lon- 
don. 

My  travel  had  done  something  to  restore  my 
shattered  enei^ies.  I  felt  stronger  and  better  than 
ever  before.  I  visited  every  place  of  amusement 
that  came  in  my  way  in  the  four  continents  I  had 
traversed,  and  had  taken  a  turn,  merely  for  the  sake 
7 


■  '^^^emm^'- 


0  JRAN  GRANT. 

of  inspection,  at  every  gambling  table  from  San 
Francisco  to  Monaco,  with  the  result  of  swelling 
my  income  beyond  my  desire.  Fortune  seems 
often  most  generous  to  a  reckless  spendthrift.  I 
was  bent  on  lavishly  squandering  my  income,  but 
the  more  prodigally  I  threw  my  money  away,  the 
more  indulgently  fortune  showered  her  profuse 
offerings  at  my  feet. 

On  reaching  Melbourne  I  had  wired  Wentworth 
that  Colonel  Windsor  was  in  San  Francisco.  But 
I  gave  no  address  and  had  heard  nothing  further 
from  Seaton.  Now  that  my  morbid  melancholy 
was  cured,  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Wentworth 
giving  him  an  account  of  my  travels.  I  received 
his  reply;  a  long,  interesting  letter,  full  of  cor- 
dial greetings.  He  was  prospering.  Jean  had 
not  been  seen  or  heard  of  since  her  wedding 
day.  Colonel  Windsor  could  not  be  traced.  Went- 
worth had  gone  to  the  Pacific  in  quest  of  the 
strange  pair.  In  vain  ;  foul  play  was  now  strongly 
suspected,     Leonore  and  her  mother  were  in  great 

sorrow. 

There  was  one  part  of  the  earth  which  I  wished 
to  visit.  My  desire,  unaccountable  as  it  was,  to 
visit  the  island  of  New  Guinea,  was  the  strongest 
I  had  experienced  since  leaving  Seaton.  While 
passing  through  Torres  Straits,  our  ship  had  an- 
chored  for  a  day  or  two  to  allow  us  to  have  a 
passing    glimpse    of    the   matchless  shore  of  this 


JEAN  GHANT. 


99 


ble  from  San 
It  of  swelling 
jrtune  seems 
pcndthrift.  I 
yr  income,  but 
iiey  away,  the 
i   her  profuse 

id  Wentworth 
rancisco.  But 
othing  further 
id  melancholy 

0  Wentworth 
s.  I  received 
•,  full  of  cor- 
g.      Jean   had 

her  wedding 
raced.  Went- 
quest  of  the 
now  strongly 
were  in  great 

vhich  I  wished 
;   as   it  was,  to 

1  the  strongest 
featon.     While 

ship  had   an- 

1  us  to  have  a 

shore  of  this 


island.     The  impression  it  made  on  my  mind  was 
one  of  gorgeous  splendor. 

By  my  glowing  descriptions  of  this  region,  and 
my  offering  to  furnish  all  necessary  funds,  I  was 
soon  able  to  organize  a  small  expedition  to  explore 
the  interior  of  this,  the  richest  and  wildest  island  in 
the  world.  When  a  man  loses  faith  ir  his  kind,  it 
is  a  relief  for  him  to  dwell  among  the  most  savage 
and  uncivilized  tribes  and  to  have  his  feet  rest  upon 
solitary  shores  where  the  foot  of  man  has  never 
before  trod. 

Dr.  George  Parks,  a  young  English  physician  with 
an  eccentric  but  brilliant  intellect,  accompanied  the 
expedition.  His  hobby  was  insanity  and  kindred 
diseases.  He  had  read  a  great  deal  and  had  some 
new  and  startling  theories  of  his  own.  About  my 
own  age  and  a  little  inclined  to  be  ascetic,  he  and  I 
grew  to  be  warm  friends.  He  diagnosed  my  own 
mental  condition  with  accuracy.  His  careful  study 
in  the  hospitals  and  asylums  of  the  Continent  en- 
abled  him  to  relate  some  weird,  uncanny  stories  to 
which  I  often  listened  for  hours  at  a  time  with  ab- 
sorbing interest. 

Through  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar ;  across  the 
Mediterranean ;  through  the  Suez  Canal ;  into  the 
Red  Sea ;  out  again  through  the  Strait  of  Bab-el- 
Mandeb ;  into  the  Indian  Ocean,  across  which  we 
sailed  into  the  Malayan  Archipelago,  wc  at  length 
moored     at     the    foot     of     the     towering,    irreg- 


BWieBl>aia«»S«!iSS**to>Mil*.t  _•«  ■ 


,J-,Vo«S»5^-f«* 


lOO 


fEAN  GRANT. 


ular    mountain-chain   which    guards   the    coast   of 
Papua. 

We  spent  some  time  among  the  Dutch  and  Chi- 
nese inhabitants  who  occupy  the  narrow,  explored 
belt  of  the  island,  lying  near  the  shore,  whose  sole 
industry  seems  to  be  to  outrival  the  Malays  in  the 
occupation  of  obtaining  edible  birds'  nests.  As 
soon  as  we  had  ingratiated  ourselves  into  their 
favor,  we  ventured  to  move  gradually  towards  the 
unexplored  interior. 

Dr.  Parks  and  I  were  in  our  tent  packing  up  for 
our  venturesome  excursion.  I  was  going  through 
some  old  papers  when  a  small  photograph  fell  from 
their  folds.  Dr.  Parks  picked  it  up  with  a  smile, 
looked  at  it,  then  at  me,  and  as  he  handed  it  to  me 
the  smile  left  his  face.  I  looked  at  it.  "Jean's 
photo!"  Taken  the  day  of  our  engagement!  It 
had  Iain  among  this  rubbish  when  I  thought  I  had 
destroyed  everything  that  would  remind  me  of  her. 
As  I  looked  at  it,  my  face  grew  stern.  I  was  going 
to  throw  it  away.  I  looked  at  Dr.  Parks.  He  was 
standing  looking  into  my  face  with  a  look  I  could 
not  understand.  I  did  not  wish  to  let  him  into  my 
past,  so  I  placed  the  picture  between  the  leaves  of 
the  "Traveller's  Guide."  Dr.  Parks  still  riveted 
me  with  his  mysterious  gaze.     I  was  annoyed. 

"Well?"  I  said  to  him  not  very  civilly. 

"Well,"  he  replied  without  taking  his  eyes  from 
my  face.     "Who  is  it?" 


the    coast  of 

Litch  and  Chi- 
row,  explored 
re,  whose  sole 
Malays  in  the 
Is'  nests.  As 
■es  into  their 
y  towards  the 

lacking  up  for 
going  through 
raph  fell  from 

with  a  smile, 
mded  it  to  me 
t  it.  "Jean's 
fagement !  It 
thought  I  had 
ind  me  of  her. 
I  was  going 
arks.  He  was 
I  look  I  could 
;t  him  into  my 
I  the  leaves  of 
3  still  riveted 
annoyed, 
ally. 

bis  eyes  from 


JEAN  GRANT. 


lOI 


"  A  woman  !  "  I  answered. 

"  Know  her?" 

"Yes;  do  you?"  I  answered,  losing  my  temper 
and  speaking  insolently. 

'♦  Yes !  "  he  answered  to  my  surprise.  It  was 
now  my  turn  to  stare  at  him. 

He  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  tent.  I  did  not 
believe  him.  "  He  is  only  trying  to  draw  me  out," 
I  thought. 

Thereafter,  I  used  to  often  find  the  doctor  study- 
ing my  face  with  that  stran^^e  inquiring  look. 
Sometimes  he  seemed  more  kind  and  brotherly,  as 
if  he  had  read  the  deep  abiding  sorrow  of  my  life. 
At  others  he  seemed  to  regard  me  with  suspicion 
and  distrust,  as  if  he  believed  me  guilty  of  some 
great  crime.     His  moods  were  to  me  a  mystery. 

The  beauty  of  scenery  v/hich  met  our  gaze  bafTies 
description.  The  even  coast  of  this  vast  equatorial 
island-continent,  washed  by  the  tepid  waters  of  the 
great  tropical  ocean,  now  rushing  in  tidal  waves  of 
enormous  height  into  narrow  channels,  between  the 
myriad  islands  that  comprise  the  huge  archipelago, 
now  sweeping  in  broad  expanses  along  the  un- 
broken contour,  presents  features  of  physical 
beauty  and  exuberant  vegetation,  in  some  respects, 
unequalled  in  the  world.  Nowhere  else  does 
nature  revel  in  such  magnificent  hues  and  fascinat- 
ing beauty;  every  tree  drops  the  most  luscious 
fruit ;  flowers  bedeck  the  fruitful  soil,  making  the 


102 


JEAN  GRANT. 


earth  a  velvet  carpet,  and  climbing  up  the  fruit- 
laden  trees,  cluster  like  constellations  among  the 
dense  green  foliage. 

Insects,  radiant  with  the  most  brilliant  colors, 
glitter  from  every  object,  as  they  move  from  place 
to  place,  like  millions  of  animated  gems.  Yonder 
is  the  bird  of  paradise,  that  strange  and  most  gor- 
geous of  feathered  songsters,  whose  pride  of  celes- 
tial birth  will  permit  it  to  call  no  other  spot  in  all 
the  wide  earth  its  home.  Beware !  here  at  our  feet 
is  a  monster  boa,  whose  gigantic  curves  and  folds  He 
almost  concealed  amidst  the  kaleidoscopic  blossoms 
whose  startlingly  bright  colors  outshine  its  own. 
Only  this  morning  I  awoke  with  a  huge  python 
twelve  feet  long  comfortably  coiled  up  on  the  earth 
scarcely  a  foot  from  my  pillow.  Here,  too,  is  that 
strange  hybrid  capable  of  swimming  in  the  air, — the 
flying  frog;  and  here  dwells  the  fierce  mias  which 
has  given  rise  to  so  much  scientific  speculation  as  to 
the  origin  of  our  race,  and  whose  strength  is  so 
great  that  no  animal  in  the  jungle  dare  attack  it 
but  the  crocodile  and  the  python,  both  of  which  it 
literally  tears  to  pieces. 

Such  wild,  surpassing  and  altogether  unusual 
sights  and  experiences  lent  a  new  interest  to  my 
self-outlawed  life,  and  added  to  the  desire  I  felt  to 
penetrate  into  the  heart  of  the  island. 

My  companions  besides  Dr.  Parks  were  three 
young    Englishmen.       Two    of    them     had    seen 


JEAN  GRANT. 


103 


jp  the  fruit- 
s  among  the 

IHant  colors, 
e  from  place 
ms.  Yonder 
nd  most  gor- 
ride  of  celes- 
;r  spot  in  all 
•e  at  our  feet 
sand  folds  lie 
>pic  blossoms 
ine  its  own. 
huge  python 

on  the  earth 
:,  too,  is  that 

the  air, — the 
e  mias  which 
:ulation  as  to 
trength  is  so 
lare  attack  it 
h  of  which  it 

ther  unusual 
terest  to  my 
esire  I  felt  to 

i  were  three 
n    had    seen 


much  of  the  world,  yet  they  declared  that  there 
were  no  such  scenes  to  be  witnessed  in  any  other 
land. 

We  lived,  for  the  most  part,  on  the  excellent  food 
procured  by  beating  and  washing  the  wood  of  the 
sago  palm  until  the  pith  is  separated  from  the 
trunk.  It  is  afterwards,  by  a  process  of  kneading, 
evaporating  and  baking,  made  into  delicious  bread 
and  cakes. 

As  we  moved  inland,  we  experienced  no  little 
difficulty  in  our  dealings  with  the  native  Papuans 
who  are  said  to  be  the  most  unique  race  of  the 
earth.  In  color,  they  resemble  the  negro ;  in  fea- 
tures, the  Caucasian.  Their  noses  are  wide  at  the 
nostrils  and  aquiline.  They  wear  no  clothes  ex- 
cepting a  primitive  garb  of  palm  leaves,  loosely  fas- 
tened together.  Without  religion,  without  its  sub- 
stitute, superstition,  without  any  belief  in  a  here- 
after, without  laws,  they  are  notwithstanding  a 
happy  and  contented  people,  free  from  vice  and 
scrupulously  honest. 

The  native  grace  and  physical  development  of 
the  men  far  excel  that  of  any  nation  civilized  or  un- 
civilized of  modern  times  ;  compared  to  these,  the 
models  of  Grecian  sculpture  which  so  fascinate  the 
imagination  of  the  visitor  to  the  Parthenon,  dwin- 
dle into  insignificance.  We  found  the  females, 
however,  poorly-clad,  dwarfed  little  creatures, 
owing,  chiefly,  to  early  marriage,  which  prevails  on 


-■■■  l"i 

■  1 


104 


JEAN  GRANT. 


the  island  to  such  an  extent  that  girls  are  often 
given  in  wedlock  at  the  age  of  ten  and  tv  elve  years. 
It  was  now  the  month  of  May.  We  were  anx- 
ious to  get  as  far  as  possible  into  the  interior  and 
return  by  the  first  of  September  in  order  to  avoid 
the  fatal  east  monsoon.  It  was  a  hazardous  jour- 
ney  to  undertake,  no  traveller  having  hitherto  pene- 
trated the  island  more  than  fifteen  miles  from  the 
coast.  But  what  cared  I?  I  feared  no  danger, 
since  death  would  have  been  as  dear  to  me  as  life. 
I  had  no  friends  to  mourn  over  my  untimely  de- 
cease. I  was  lost  to  love,  friendship  and  acquain- 
tance. But  I  rejoiced  when  I  found  a  new  and 
worthy  ambition  rising  in  my  breast,  an  ambition 
to  explore  this  most  beautiful  spot  of  earth. 

My  companions  were  daring  fellows.  About 
twenty  miles  from  the  west  coast  of  the  island,  we 
came  upon  a  broad,  clear,  swift-flowing  river. 
•  From  its  vast  volume,  and  the  gestures  of  the  na- 
tives, we  concluded  that  this  river  must  have  its 
source  many  hundreds  of  miles  inland.  We  im- 
provised a  craft,  and  sailed  up  its  course.  Slowly, 
day  after  day,  we  moved  through  the  most  enraptur- 
ing scenic  wonderland. 

The  beautifully  clear  waters  of  the  river,  winding 
its  serpentine  course  between  its  verdurous  banks, 
■where  luxuriant  clusters  of  wild,  brilliant-hued  blos- 
soms, white,  blue,  red,  sparkled  like  prismatic  fires 
from  the  copious  foliage,  and  high  up,  among  the 


JEAN  GRANT. 


105 


girls  are  often 
id  tv  elve  years. 

We  were  anx- 
Lhe  interior  and 
I  order  to  avoid 
hazardous  jour- 
g  liitherto  pene- 

miles  from  the 
red  no  danger, 
ir  to  me  as  life, 
ly  untimely  de- 
ip  and  acquain- 
und  a  new  and 
ist,  an  ambition 
af  earth, 
fellows.  About 
if  the  island,  we 
"t-flowing  river, 
itures  of  the  na- 
r  must  have  its 
inland.  We  im- 
course.  Slowly, 
e  most  enraptur- 

le  river,  winding 
erdurous  banks, 
illiant-hued  blos- 
:e  prismatic  fires 
up,  among  the 


shrubbery,  the  tall  acacia  and  the  magnificent 
orange  flower  hung  their  drooping  heads  like  clus- 
ters  of  snow  and  gold  ;  the  towering  forests  so 
dense  that  the  richly-hued  birds  could  not  fly 
through  them,  but  fluttered  from  bough  to  bough 
like  moving  stars  in  the  blue  heavens;  the  immeas- 
urable fields  of  variegated  flowers,  thousands  of 
acres  in  extent,  through  which  we  passed,  and  the 
multitudinous  varieties  of  animal  life  which  we 
daily  saw  disporting  on  the  banks  of  the  beautiful 
stream,  threw  an  indescribable  charm  around  what- 
ever hardships  our  voyage  entailed. 

When  about  one  hundred  miles  inland,  we  met  a 
Dyak  princess.  She  was  reclining,  alone  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  river,  and  did  not  notice  our 
approach,  until  we  were  quite  near  her.  On  seeing 
us,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  features  expressing 
profound  amazement.  She  was  for  a  woman  of  her 
race  lovely.  Her  features,  though  large  were  clear- 
cut,  and  delicately  formed.  Her  eyes  were  large, 
round,  clear  and  black.  Her  body  seemed  the  per- 
fection of  womanly  grace  and  beauty.  Her  hair 
hung  loosely  around  her  naked  shoulders.  Her 
arms  and  bust  were  bare  and  shone  like  polished 
ebony.  Her  head  was  covered  with  a  small  turban, 
consisting  apparently  of  one  piece  of  fabric  wound 
in  a  spiral  form.  Directly  in  front  of  this  toque  a 
small  crown  of  gold  graced  her  broad  forehead. 
Enormous    gold    ear-rings    hung    from    her    ears. 


io6 


JEA^'  GRANT. 


r-t 


^i 


They  seemed  the  shape   of,  and  ahnost  as  large  as 
saucers.     Her   necklace    was   formed   of   enormous 
nuggets     of    pure    gold.     Eight     bangles    of   gold 
adonied  each  wrist.     Above  each   elbow,  she  wore 
an   armlet    of  gold  about  the  thickness  of  a  large 
walking  cane  ;  and  three   smaller  bracelets  of  gold 
embraced  each  arm   near  the  shoulder;  in  addition 
to  these  ornaments,  she  wore  large,  golden  anklets 
and  bore  in   her  right  hand  a   golden   sceptre,  not 
unlike   the   shape  of   a  small  oar.     One  wondered 
how  she  could  carry  about  such  a  weight  of  metal. 
For  a  moment   only  she  stood  scanning  us,  and 
then,  lifting  her  hands  towards  heaven,  she  uttered 
a   strange,   moaning  cry,  and  fell  prostrate  to  the 
earth  with  her  hands  clasped  above  her  head.     We 
approached  her,  and  did   our  best  to  ingratiate  our- 
selves  into   her  favor;  for  we  perceived    that   she 
was  the  daughter  of   a  royal  house,  and  that  her 
opposition  might  easily  prove   fatal  to  our  expedi- 
tion.    She  informed  us  that  her  father,  the  kmg, 
lived  but  a  few  miles  away,  that  she  had  come  to 
the  river  to  meet  her  lover  and  invited  us  to  lodge 
at  the  palace.     We  did  so. 

The  palace  was  rich  and  designed  with  taste  and 

skill.     The  old  king  was  hospitable.     Through  our 

.  interpreter  we  learned  that  he  had  in  his  day  been  a 

^  great  warrior.     He  attributed  much  of  his  success 

to   his  daughter,  who  since  childhood  had  been  a 

sorceress. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


107 


ost  as  large  as 

of  enormous 
ngles  of  gold 
bow,  she  wore 
less  of  a  large 
icelets  of  gold 
cr ;  in  addition 
golden  anklets 
en  sceptre,  not 

One  wondered 
eight  of  metal, 
lanning  us,  and 
/en,  she  uttered 
rostrate  to  the 

her  head.  We 
3  ingratiate  our- 
eived  that  she 
e,  and  that  her 

to  our  expedi- 
ather,  the  king, 
he  had  come  to 
ited  us  to  lodge 

d  with  taste  and 
e.  Through  our 
in  his  day  been  a 
ch  of  his  success 
ood  had  been  a 


Dr.  Parks  and  I  had  her  tell  our  fortunes.  This 
she  did  in  the  presence  of  the  royal  household  who, 
notwithstanding  our  smiles,  viewed  the  occasion  as 
one  of  great  solemnity.  "  You  have  never  loved  ; 
you  are  strange ;  you  are  married  to  yourself,"  she 
said  to  Dr.  Parks  as  she  read  his  palm. 

To  me  she  said  :  "  You  are  a  traveller ;  no  home  ; 
no  friends ;  you  arc  very  sad.  You  are  looking  for 
some  lost  one.  Your  heart  has  been  burned  by 
love.  You  will  not  find.  You  will  travel  for  a 
long  time.  You  are  in  danger  of  your  life.  A 
strong  man  wants  to  kill  you.  She  whose  love 
burned  your  heart  is  in  darkness.  She  is  calling  for 
you,  she  will  die  if  you  do  not  go  to  her.  Your 
heart  still  loves  her,  but  you  are  proud  and  would 
not  speak  to  her.  She  is  in  prison  and  has  no 
friends.  If  you  will  seek  her  you  may  yet  have 
peace.  Your  stubborn  mind  has  caused  you  to 
lose  your  best  friends." 

A  few  days  after,  I  found  Dr.  Parks  studying 
Jean's  photograph,  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
directory.  "  That  photograph  interests  you  !  "  I 
said.  "  It  does  ;  you  also.  You  are  a  married  man, 
Garland,  "  he  said  suspiciously.  ' 

"  I  have  not  the  honor,"  I  answered. 

We  continued  our  course,  our  interest  redoubled, 
on  having  learned  that  the  king's  inestimable  treas- 
ures had  been  derived  from  the  source  of  the  river. 
As  we  ascended  the  river,  we  came  in  contact  with 


% 


Ar^^lut^tf&ffMESwvv  I"- 


io8 


JEAN  GRANT. 


V 
X 

!  I 


various  Dyak  tribes,  each  governed  by  an  elective 
king.  The  scenery,  if  possible,  became  more  luxu- 
riantly rich ;  the  birds  and  insects  more  brilliant ; 
and  the  kings  and  their  ministers  became  still  more 
sumptuously  attired  and  equipped. 

Strength  became  more  and  more  the  shibboleth 
of  sovereignty.  The  air  became  more  attenuated, 
and  the  tints  of  the  blossoms  more  delicate.  The 
sound  of  the  mingling  voices  of  the  birds  at  morn- 
ing and  evening  twilight,  was  an  orchestra  that  has 
never  been  equalled  since  the  world  began. 

At  length,  we  descried,  directly  to  the  east,  the 
snow-capped  peaks  of  a  lofty  mountain  range,  the 
feeder  of  the  beautiful  river  we  were  navigating. 
On,  on !  with  renewed  hopes,  pressed  we  towards 
our  goal. 

It  was  about  the  first  of  August,  when  we 
reached  the  source  of  the  stream  which  we  found  to 
be  a  lake  of  considerable  size,  beautifully  blue  and 
placid,  and  swarming  with  every  species  of  Malayan 
aquatic  birds,  situated,  our  instruments  told  us, 
almost  in  the  heart  of  New  Guinea,  right  at  the  foot 
of  a  chain  of  mountains  twenty  thousand  feet  in 
height.  We  spent  some  weeks  coasting  around  this 
lake  which  we  named  Beautiful.  At  the  extremity 
of  a  long,  narrow  bay  which  formed  its  southern 
extension,  we  came  across  vast  ruins  which  showed 
the  traces  of  an  extinct  civilization  ;  forts,  palaces, 
temples,  aqueducts,  amphitheatres   and  sculptured 


,  by  an  elective 

ame  more  luxu- 

more  brilliant ; 

:came  still  more 

•e  the  shibboleth 
lore  attenuated, 
s  delicate.  The 
e  birds  at  morn- 
•chestra  that  has 
1  began. 

to  the  east,  the 
intain  range,  the 
were  navigating, 
ssed  we  towards 

ugust,  when  we 
hich  we  found  to 
utifuUy  blue  and 
ecies  of  Malayan 
uments  told  us, 
,  right  at  the  foot 
thousand  feet  in 
sting  around  this 
\t  the  extremity 
ned  its  southern 
ns  which  showed 
n  ;  forts,  palaces, 
)  and  sculptured 


JEAN  GRANT. 


109 


figures  betraying  the  most  delicate  and  cultured 
skill.  About  a  mile  to  the  south,  on  a  plateau, 
stood  the  ruins  of  a  magnificent  temple,  surrounded 
by  terraces  and  hanging  gardens.  The  ascent  to 
the  temple,  which  stood  ten  thousand  feet  above 
the  surface  of  the  plain,  consisted  of  ten  flights  of 
steps  cut  in  the  solid  stone  of  the  mountain  side. 

This  gigantic  structure  was  a  profound  mystery 
to  the  natives,  as  it  was  to  us,  but  it,  as  well  as 
many  other  ruins  which  we  saw  in  the  interior, 
afforded  abundant  evidence  of  the  fact  that  at  some 
time,  far  back  in  the  past,  the  Papuans  boasted  of 
a  refined  and  aggressive  civilization  which  the  dete- 
riorating progress  of  time  had  trampled  to  the 
earth. 

Here,  a  few  days  after,  we  were  rejoined,  much 
to  our  astonishment  and  dismay,  by  the  Dyak 
Princess  whose  guest  we  had  been  several  hundreds 
of  miles  below.  She  was  accompanied  by  a  body- 
guard of  dusky  warriors. 

The  name  of  this  princess  was  Guan.  She  had 
fallen  in  love  with  my  handsome,  flaxen-haired, 
English  companion,  Dr.  Parks.  This  afforded  us 
infinite  amusement  for  a  time,  but,  in  the  end, 
great  annoyance  and  trouble. 

Guan  was  politeness  itself.  She  showed  us  many 
new  sights  and  wonders,  the  most  marvellous  of 
which  was  what  the  natives  called  "  the  mountain 
of  gold,"  whence  they" had  drawn  the  abundance  of 


II' 


,10  JEAN  GRANT. 

their  wealth  and  ornament.  It  appeared  to  be  sev- 
eral hundred  feet  hi-h  and  projected  like  an  im- 
mense abscess  from  the  side  of  the  snow-covered 

mountain. 

En-dishmcn  and  Americans  are  exceedingly  alike 
in  one  thing  at  least.-their  love  for  gold.  The 
first  question  which  struck  each  of  us  was,  how  we 
could    have  this  mountain  removed  to  London  or 

New  York. 

By  the  time  we  were  ready  to  leave,  we  had 
stuffed  our  pockets,  and  the  seams  of  our  garments 
and  our  high  boot-legs,  with  chips  of  the  precious 
metal,  and  were  walking  about  like  animated  bags 

of  stones.  , 

■  Guan  had  shown  us  everything.  She  now  made 
her  request  known.  She  would  marry  Dr.  Parks. 
Her  demand  was  made  with  all  the  imperious  pomp 
and  haughtiness  of  a  Princess  fully  aware  of  her 
sovereign  power. 

Poor  Parks!  he  had  been  very  patient  with 
Guan.  He  had  silently  endured,  day  after  day,  her 
affectionate  caresses  and  embraces.  He  jocosely 
answered  our  taunts  by  saying  that  it  was  not  every 
Englishman  who  had  a  wealthy  princess  to  pop  the 

question  to  him. 

He  tried  temporizing.  In  vain.  Her  demand 
was  peremptory.  Dr.  Parks  for  once  looked  non- 
plussed. The  most  serious  part  of  it  was  that  she 
had   sufficient  force  at  her  'command  to  compel 


JEAN  GRANT. 


lit 


;ared  to  be  sev- 
ted  like  an  im- 
e  snow-covered 

xceedingly  alike 
for  gold.  The 
us  was,  how  we 

1  to  London  or 

leave,  we  had 
of  our  garments 

of  the  precious 
z  animated  bags 

She  now  made 
narry  Dr.  Parks. 

imperious  pomp 
ly  aware  of  her 

ry  patient  with 
lay  after  day,  her 
es.  He  jocosely 
t  it  was  not  every 
incess  to  pop  the 

n.  Her  demand 
ance  looked  non- 
>f  it  was  that  she 
mand  to  compel 


obedience  to  her  wishes.  We  were  given  a  day  to 
consider  the  point.  Dr.  Parks  was  a  strong-headed, 
cold-blooded  Englishman.  He  would  not  yield. 
We  were  all  made  prisoners,  and  preparations  were 
made  for  our  execution  next  morning. 

Matters  had  reached  a  crisis.  We  spent  the 
night  in  a  hut  made  of  bamboo  and  thatch.  It 
reminded  me  of  the  Black  Hole,  the  air  was  so  hot 
and  stifling. 

I  slept  for  a  few  moments,  and  dreamed  that  I 
saw  George  Wentworth  standing  on  the  little  bridge 
at  Seaton.  He  was  wounded  in  the  breast  and 
bleeding  terribly.  He  spoke  to  me.  "Garland, 
my  dear  friend,  I  am  dying  ;  I  am  murdered  by 
Colonel  Windsor.  That  was  a  fatal  joke.  It  is  all 
over  with  me.  Poor  Leonore !  to-morrow  was  our 
wedding-day.  Give  me  your  hand,  my  dear  old 
boy.  Be  good  to  Leonore.  Remember  me." 
And  then  he  fell  dead  in  my  arms. 

Morning  came.  Parks  was  unbending.  Our 
doom  was  read.  Our  chains  were  tightened.  A 
huge  bonfire  was  prepared  on  which  our  bodies 
were  to  be  sacrificed— no,  not  sacrificed,  for  these 
people  have  no  religion,  not  even  idolatry,  but 
simply  burnt. 

"  Garland,  dying  men  have  no  secrets,"  said  Dr. 
Parks  ;  •'  tell  me  what  troubles  you  so.  Tell  me  all 
about  the  woman  whose  photograph  you  keep,  yet 
care  so  little  for.     Is  she  not  your  wife  ?  " 


fel. 


,12  JEAN  GRANT. 

•'  I  am  not  married ;  I  have  nothing  to  tell  that 
would  interest  you." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  I  am  interested  in  studying 
out  your  case.  I  would  die  easier  to  have  bot- 
tomed it."  i 
"  A  genuine  Briton,"  I  thought.  "  This  imper- 
turbable  genius  would  like  to  have  a  smoke  and  a 
drink  of  whiskey  on  the  scaffold,  if  he  were  going 
to  be  hanged." 

"  Vou  said  you  knew  this  lady,  Dr.  Parks." 
"  So  1  do.  Garland  !  " 

"  Then  what   is  the   use  of  my  telling  you  any- 
thing about  her." 

"  Because  I  would  learn  something  about  your- 
self." 

"  Thanks  for  your  interest  in  me." 
"  Moonshine  ! "  I  said  to  myself.     "  He  thinks  he 
can  pump  me  so  easily." 

"  If  I  ask  you  one  straight  question,  Garland,  will 
you  give  me  an  honest  answer?  " 

"Ask  it  and  see,"  I  :  ^pHed,  smiling  at  the  Doc- 
tor's eleventh-hour  persistency. 

"Well,  this   is  the  question:  Is  your  true  name 
Arthur  Garland?" 

"  It  is ;  but  why  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  good 
do  you  ask  me  such  an  absurd  question  ?  " 

"  Very  strange ! "  he   muttered   to   himself,   and 
the  conversation  ended. 

But  the  Doctor's  strange  questions,  and   Guan's 


ig  to  tell  that 

ed  in  studying 
to  have   bot- 

i 
"  Tills  iinper- 

a  smoke  and  a 

he  were  going    • 

,  Parks." 

illing  you  any- 

ng  about  your- 

"  He  thinlcs  he 

)n,  Garland,  will 

ing  at  the  Doc- 

your  true  name 

all  that  is  good 

:ion  ? 

to   himself,    and 

)ns,  and   Guan's 


JEAN  GRANT. 


It| 


horoscope  of  my  In  repainted  tlic  old  scenes  on 
my  memory.  In  the  d.irknt-ss,  in  uiy  fears  of 
approaching  death,  in  my  dreams,  I  saw  nothing 
but  Jean  Grant's  lovely  face ;  it  was  pale, 
wretched,  sad,  but  appealing  and  still  benutiful. 
She  stood  before  me  in  an  attitude  of  supplication 
with  uplifted  hands  and  upturned  eyes  crying  out, 
"Come  back  Arthur!  "  Come  back  I  and  all  will 
be  well  !  " 


'  :.s\ 


.  --.seatt^tf^'wjfc'^.-  {;i^Bait<^rtJ--».ui^.^m!C^&!"a*«ai>ariW.^>-^' 


S'l 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

And  so  my  end  had  at  last  come.  With  my 
gallant  and  much-loved  comrades  I  was  to  perish  in 
the  heart  of  this  beautiful  land,  a  martyr  to  n  •■ 
cause,  a  sacrifice  to  no  deity. 

All  at  once,  life  seemed  for  me  to  regain  its  lost 
sweetness  and  interest.     My  mind  had  for  months 
been  so  engrossed  with  the  surprising  loveliness  of 
the  scenes  about  me  as  to  have  recovered  from  its 
former  depression,     I  now  wished  to  live  ;  wished 
to  devote  my  life  to  the  exploration  of  this  island 
and  to  making  known  its  manifold  resources  to  the 
world.     In  this  way  I   could  benefit  my  kind  and 
live  a  higher  and  more  unselfish  life   than  I  had 
mapped  out  for  myself  even  in  my  brighter  days. 
•*  If  I  were  only  free,  if  I  were  only  in  New  York, 
how  easily   could  I  form  an  exploring  party   well 
supplied  with  baubles  for  the  savage  inhabitants ; 
armed  with  the  authority  of  the    great  Republic, 
with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flaunting  from  our  mask's 
we  could  ascend  this  nameless,  navigable  river  to  its 
source,   and  take  possession   in   the   name   of   the 
United    States    of   these  stupendous   ruins.    Lake 
Beautiful,   and    Golden    Mountain."     Nowhere,  so 


JEAN  GRANT. 


"5 


)me.  With  my 
was  to  perish  in 
L  martyr  to  nc 

o  regain  its  lost 
had  for  months 
!ng  loveliness  of 
:overed  from  its 
to  live  ;  wished 
n  of  this  island 
resources  to  the 
fit  my  kind  and 
life   than  I  had 
iy  brighter  days. 
y  in  New  York, 
aring  party   well 
age  inhabitants ; 
great  Republic, 
T  from  our  mask's 
igable  river  to  its 
le   name   of   the 
ous   ruins,    Lake 
."     Nowhere,  so 


far  as  I  know,  has  gold  been  found  on  the  surface 
of  the  earth  and  in  such  quantity  as  here, 

"  To  die  in  the  midst  of  such  prospects  !  For  no 
cause!  To  perish  to  gratify  a  whim  of  this  savage 
Princess !  It  cannot  be  !  It  must  not  be  !  Some- 
thing must  be  done.  How  I  wished  I  were  only 
handsome  enough  to  marry  her  myself.  What 
odds!  It  would  only  be  a  joke.  If  the  practical 
side  of  it  should  bear  too  severely  on  Guan,  she 
would  have  herself  ro  blame  for  it.  I  set  my 
ingenuity  to  work.  But  the  time  was  getting 
short. 

I  threatened,  coaxed  and  cursed  Dr.  Parks. 
"  For  heaven's  sake  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  marry  her,  no 
matter  what  it  may  cost  you;  elope  with  her; 
shoot  yourself ;  do  anything  rather  tlian  have  us 
who  are  innocent  of  the  offence  of  personal  beauty 
become  a  sacrifice  for  yours.  What  prompted 
me  to  allow  a  dude  from  Piccadilly,  an  Oscar 
Wilde  to  accompany  us  !  " 

Dr.  Parks  was  uncompromising.  "  I  will  die,"  he 
said,  "  if  it  will  save  the  lives  of  you  fellows ;  I  will 
shoot  myself;  I  will  do  anything  but  marry  this 
wench." 

But  I  had  underrated  the  resources  of  this  cool, 
immovable  Englishman. 

The  moment  arrived.  We  were  summoned  to  our 
fate.  We  determined  to  die  like  soldiers.  Each  of 
us  had  a  revolver  and  could  use  it  well.     If  every 


Ii6 


JEAN  GRANT. 


other  resource  failed,  we  would  use  them  ;  but  the 
chances  even  then  were  against  us,  as  each  of  the 
warriors  was  armed  with  a  sword  and  a  long  sharp 

spear.  . 

We   got   down   on  our  knees  and   implored  tor 

mercy.     They  merely  laughed  at  us.  ^^ 

"  The  Princess  and  Prophetess  must  be  obeyed . 
We  threatened  them  with  the  terrible  vengeance 

of  the  two  mightiest  nations  of  the  earth.    To  no 

effect.  . 

We  asked  them  to  postpone  this  burnmg  busmess 
until  've  returned  with  them  to  Guan's  palace, 
where  it  could  be  performed  with  proper  pomp. 
They  remained  unmoved. 

We  offered  them  toys,  money,  alliances,  pipes 
and  tobacco  for  our  ransom,  all  of  which  they  ac- 
cepted apparently  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  con- 
tinned  as  blood-thirsty  as  ever. 

I  offered  to  wed  the  fair  (J)  Guan.  Her  choice 
was  made.  She  was  evidently  determined  to  marry 
Parks  or  not  at  all. 

Our  resources  were  about  exhausted. 
Suddenly,  Dr.  Parks  fell  down,  to  all  appearances, 
dead  as  a  stone.  He  was  something  of  an  actor 
anyway,  but  never  before  had  I  so  admired  the  act- 
ing of  himself  or  any  other  as  now.  Irving  and 
Booth  were  discounted.  Restoratives  were  applied 
to  no  purpose.  We  seized  the  opportunity.  We 
announced  that  he  was  dead.    The  warriors  were 


JEAN  GRANT. 


tl7 


hem  ;  but  tVie 

s  each-  of  the 

a  long  sharp 

implored  for 

It  be  obeyed ! " 
ible  vengeance 
earth.    To  no 

urning  business 

Guan's  palace, 

proper  pomp. 

alliances,  pipes 
which  they  ac- 
:ourse,  but  con- 

m.  Her  choice 
rmined  to  marry 

ted. 

all  appearances, 
ing  of  an  actor 
admired  the  act- 
ow.  Irving  and 
^res  were  applied 
pportunity.  We 
le  warriors  were 


disappointed,  but  had  some  doubts  as  to  whether  or 
not  the  rest  of  us  should  be  burnt.  Guan  threw 
herself  on  the  prostrate  form  of  her  dead  idol  ana 
moaned,  sobbed  and  wept  pitifully.  So  did  our 
party.  We  rose  equal  to  the  occasion  and  managed 
to  pretend  unspeakable  sorrow  and  bitter  tears. 
Guan  decreed  that  our  lives  should  be  spared. 
I  Preparations  were  commenced  for  the  descent  of 

'  the  river.     We  carried  Dr.  Parks  on  a  rudely  devised 

litter  to  the  lake  and  deposited  his  living  remains  in 
a  quiet  corner  of  our  boat. 

The    Papuans   had    a    fleet    of   five   small  boats. 

'They  proceeded  ahead,  Guan's  delicate  craft,  which 

was   a   perfect    marvel   of  lightness,  strength   and 

elegance,  leading.     It  recalled  the  lines  of  Shake- 

peare, 

"  The  barge  she  sat  in,  like  a  burnished  throne, 
Burn'd  on  the  water  :  the  poop  was  beaten  gold  ; 
Purple  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed,  that 
The  winds  were  love-sicic  with  them  ;  the  oars  were  silver, 
Which  to  the  time  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and  made 
The  water,  which  they  beat,  to  follow  faster. 
As  amorous  of  their  strokes." 

Our  swarthy  companions  drew  some  distance 
ahead,  so  that  we  were,  without  detection,  able  to 
give  our  corpse  food  and  drink.  He  also  enjoyed 
an  occasional  smoke  and  declared  that  he  rather 
enjoyed  being  a  corpse  under  the  circumstances. 

"I'm  like   Pat,"  he   continued,  "I'd   rather  be 


u 

•  1 


Jit 

1) 

r 


n 


Ii8 


y£.4iV  GRANT. 


alive   five  minutes  than   dead  all  the  rest  of  my 

life." 

But  we  were  not  out  of  danger,  and  jokes  were 
scarcely  in  order.  We  wondered  what  we  should 
do  with  the  lively  remains  during  the  night,  for  we 
knew  Guan  would  spend  the  night  by  their  side ; 
and  the  role  of  acting  dead  for  about  ten  hours 
was  a  difficult  one,  even  for  Dr.  Parks  to  assume. 
Besides,  we  could  no  longer  account  for  the 
warmth  of  the  body,  and  it  was  safe  to  presume 
that   even   barbarians   know  that  dead  men  grow 

cold. 

Dr.  Parks  devised  a  scheme  which  worked  to  a 
demonstration.     As  soon  as  our  boats  were  moored, 
early   in   the    evening,   I    sprang   ashore,  seized   a 
bottle  of  cognac,  took  a  swig  out  of  it,  and  imme- 
diately  began  dancing,  laughing  and  giving  other 
evidences  of  excessive  hilarity.     My  comrades,  with 
the  exception  of  the  corpse,  followed  suit.     For  a 
few   minutes,    we   danced,   wrestled,   sang,   somer- 
saulted like  a  band  of  maniacs,  not  forgetting  to 
interperse     our    exercises    with    loud,     uproarious 
laughter.     We  passed  the  bottle  from   one  to  an- 
other  rapidly,  and  pretended  to  drink  deeply  from 
its  contents  each  time,  though  in  reality,  we  only 
touched  our  tongues  to  it. 

The  concert  was  much  appreciated  by  the  Dyaks, 
who  are  naturally  humorous,  and  especially  by 
Guan.    They  requested  to  be  allowed  to  partici- 


he  rest  of  my 

nd  jokes  were 
hat  we  should 
i  night,  for  we 
by  their  side ; 
bout  ten  hours 
rks  to  assume. 
:ount  for  the 
ife  to  presume 
ead  men  grow 

h  worked  to  a 
ts  were  moored, 
shore,  seized  a 
)f  it,  and  imme- 
d  giving  other 
comrades,  with 
ed  suit.  For  a 
i,  sang,  somer- 
)t  forgetting  to 
ud,  uproarious 
om  one  to  an- 
nk  deeply  from 
reality,  we  only 

d  by  the  Dyaks, 
1  especially  by 
Dwed  to  partici- 


/EAJV  GRANT. 


119 


pate  in  our  joyous  festivities.  We  acceded  to  their 
request.  Half  a  dozen  more  bottles  were  brought 
from  the  boat.  Our  friends  drank  it  with  much 
relish.  In  a  few  minutes,  Guan  showed  symptoms 
of  having  taken  decidedly  too  much,  and  acted  in  a 
manner  scarcely  becoming  to  a  princess. 

Around  went  the  bottles.  On  went  the  dance. 
After  a  little  while,  Guan  retired  overcome  by  the 
powerful  effects  of  the  liquor.  One  by  one,  her 
loyal  body-guard  followed  her  example,  until  they 
all  lay  around  on  the  green-sward  like  so  many 
slaughtered  innocents,  in  a  state  of  dreadful  intoxi- 
cation. 

Our  corpse  came  back  to  life.  He  was  now  sit- 
ting in  the  boat  smoking  his  long  pipe  and  remarked 
with  a  gentle  smile,  "A  little  brandy  is  a  very 
good  thing  to  have  on  hand  when  one  is  travelling. 
It  meets  an  emergency  like  a  guardian  angel."  We 
silently  slipped  from  our  moorings  and  floated 
down  the  majestic  stream,  leaving  our  stupefied 
escorts  behind. 

I  knew  that  I  should  soon  part  from  Dr.  Parks, 
and  I  wanted  to  draw  him  out,  if  possible  on  the 
subject  of  Jean's  photograph. 

We  had  anchored  and  were  sitting  smoking  in 
the  early  evening.  I  took  it  out  and  looked  at 
it  for  a  long  time.  For  a  time  he  was  silent. 
Then  he  said,  "  A  pretty  woman !  She  is  prettier 
than  her  picture.     Is  she  a  relative  of  yours?  " 


120 


IE  AN  GRANT. 


■^ 
ii»> 


11 


»+ 


I', 


%}> 


\3 


"No;  why?" 

"  She's  a  badly  used  woman." 

"  Badly  used  ?     What  do  you  know  about  her  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  in  riddles?  "  ^ 

"Because  you  are  a  riddle.  You  doubc  me. 
You  think  I  am  actuated  by  mere  curiosity.  You 
say  to  yourself,  '  He  knows  nothing  about  this 
woman.'  Shall  I  prove  to  you  my  good  faith? 
Shall  I  tell  you  her  name?" 

"Yes;  pray  do;  I  am  in  earnest." 

"  Jean  Windsor,  wife  of  Colonel  Windsor,  maiden 

name,  Grant!" 

I     was     dumbfounded.     "Were     you    ever    in 

Ar'  jrica  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Never." 

"  Do  you  know  where  Mrs.  Windsor,  as  you  call 
her,  resides  at  the  present  time?"    . 

"  I  do  not." 

I  concluded  now  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  every- 
thing to  Dr.  Parks.  He  was  in  possession  of  facts 
very  likely  which  might  help  Mrs.  Sherman  to 
recover  her  lost  child.  But  I  was  disconcerted.  I 
would  go  out  for  a  walk.  I  would  return  to  Dr. 
Parks. 

In  the  course  of  fifteen  minutes  I  came  back. 
Dr.  Parks  noticed  my  disturbed  air,  and  holding 
me  with  that  strange  look,  began,  speaking  to  my 
comrades. 


JEAN  GKANT. 


121 


: about  her?" 

ou  doubc  me. 
curiosity.  You 
ing  about  this 
\y  good   faith  ? 

Windsor,  maiden 
you    ever    in 

sor,  as  you  call 


breast  of  every- 
ssession  of  facts 
rs.  Sherman  to 
disconcerted.  I 
1  return  to   Dr. 

:s  I  came  back, 
lir,  and  holding 
speaking  to  my 


"  Yes ;  brain  diseases  are  as  varied  as  the  pebbles 
on  the  sea-shore.  All  men  are  more  or  less  insane. 
There  are  insane  persons  outside  of  the  asylums, 
and  plenty  of  sane  people  in  them." 

I  sat  down  opposite"  the  doctor,  and  I  noticed,  as 
he  proceeded  that  he  cast  rapid  glances  at  me,  from 
time  to  time,  as  if  he  expected  to  read  something 
in  my  face. 

'•  A  painful  case  came  under  my  notice  some 
time  ago.  A  beautiful  young  woman  had  been 
confined  in  the  best  private  asylum  in  London  for 
some  years.  She  was  so  lovely  that  when  I  first 
saw  her,  I  was  anxious  to  know  her  history.  I 
talked  with  her.  She  seemed  rational.  '  I  am  not 
insane,'  she  said,  *  but  I  have  become  so  weary  of 
trying  to  get  out  of  this  terrible  place  in  vain,  that 
I  submit  to  it  now.'  I  called  on  her  again  and  again. 
She  was  always  the  same.  She  told  me  her  story 
simply  and  without  variation,  and  a  sad  story  it  was. 
She  had  been  brought  up  in  a  home  of  refinement. 
She  had  married  a  worthless  army  officer."  Here 
the  doctor  stopped  suddenly,  and  flashed  his  search- 
ing gray  eyes  into  my  face.     Then  he  went  on. 

"  He  married  her  for  her  money,  and  discovering 
after  the  marriage  that  the  fortune  belonged  to  her 
half-sister  and  not  to  her,  he  had  her  shut  up  in  this 
asylum." 

I  was  getting  terribly  excited.  Dr.  Parks  saw 
this  and  now  looked  at  me  with  a  savage  scowl  as  if 


■A^ 


S,f.  i 


If  ■ 


It'- 


', 


It 


,22  JEAN  GKANT. 

he  believed  me  to  be  the  miserable  culprit  he  was 

describing.  ,  ,  „ 

"  She  was  never  allowed  to  go  out  of  her  room. 
She  was  forbidden  to  write  or  receive  letters  or  to 
receive  visitors.     I  made  a  study  of  her  case.     She 
was  not  insane  and  never  had  been.     When  I  told 
her  that   I  would  try  to    get    her  liberated,  I  shall 
never  forget  how  she  looked.     It  made  my  heart 
bleed      I  got  five   of  the  best  experts  to  visit  her, 
without  suspicion,  and  succeeded  in  the  end  in  get- 
ting her  out  of  the  miserable  hole  by  threatening 
the  proprietors  with  indictment  and  exposure.     It 
took  me   six  months  to  effect  her  liberation.     As 
usual.  I  made   an  ass  of  myself  by  falling  in  love 
with  the  lovely  creature;    and   from    the    day   she 
kissed  my  hand  and  blessed  me  for  my  efforts  on 
her   behalf,  I   have  never  been  able  to   see  her  or 
learn  where  she  is.     Her  wretch  of  a  husband  has,  I 
suppose,  shut  her  up  in  some  other  den.     If  I  ever 
come  across  him,  hang  me,  if  I  don  t  shoot  h.m 
down  like  a  dog."     Again  his  scowl  rested  on  my 
face  and  I  was  almost  afraid  of  him.    ^  .,   ,     ,, 

Was  this  the  story  of  Jean  Grants  perils?  It 
was  almost  what  I  expected  to  hear.  This  view 
if  correct,  would  account  for  the  manner  in  which 
Dr  Parks  looked  at  the  photograph  and  for  his 
stran-e  conduct  towards  me.  Evidently,  he  be- 
lieved me  to  be  her  cruel  husband.  I  would  find  an 
opportunity  and   exchange  confidences  with  him. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


123 


;  culprit  he  was 

ut  of  her  room. 
ive  letters  or  to 
;  her  case.  She 
1.  When  I  told 
liberated,  I  shall 

made  my  heart 
erts  to  visit  her, 
n  the  end  in  get- 
e  by  threatening 
id  exposure.  It 
r  liberation.  As 
jy  falling  in  love 
3m  the  day  she 
or  my  efforts  on 
lie  to   see  her  or 

a  husband  has,  I 
;r  den.     If  I  ever 

don't  shoot  him 
nvl  rested  on  my 
m. 

rant's  perils?  It 
hear.  This  view, 
s  manner  in  which 
[raph  and  for  his 
Evidently,  he  be- 
1.  I  would  find  an 
idences  with  him. 


I   was    distressed    and   went   alone    for   a   second 
.stroll. 

On  my  return,  I  met  Dr.  Parks.  He  looked 
gloomy  and  disturbed. 

"  Garland,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  have  come  here 
to  meet  you." 

"What  for?"  I  enquired. 

"  To  beat  you,"  he  answered  coolly. 

"  To  beat  me  ?  "  I  asked  in  astonishment.  "  We 
are  friends !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  indifferently,  "  of  course  we  are 
friends,  but  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  It 
needn't  interfere  with  our  friendsliip.  But  my 
duty  is  clear.  I  believe  you  are  a  scoundrel,  and 
I'm  going  to  impress  that  fact  upon  you  with 
emphasis." 

I  was  at  my  wit's  ends.  "  The  man  is  mad  !  "  I 
exclaimed  aloud.  He  took  off  his  coat  and  hung 
it  carefully  on  the  nearest  acacia  bush.  He 
removed  his  collar  and  tie,  and  rolled  up  his  sleeves 
to  the  elbows  with  the  utmost  deliberation.  I 
stood  petrified.  ,  ' 

He  stood  before  me  and  said  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  way, — "  Garland,  your  true  name  is  Colonel 
Windsor.  You  married  Jean  Grant  for  her  money. 
When  you  found  she  had  no  money,  you  had  her 
confined  in  an  asylum  in  London.  You  learned 
that  I  loved  her  and  rescued  her.  You  had  her 
removed  to  another  dungeon.    I  detected  you  by 


-  ^ssaftjttMi'iii--"^  =^*3>-_i'::=' 


1, 


't 


ii 


,2^  y^^A'  GRANT. 

means  of  her  photograph  which  you  accidentally  let 
fall.  I  have  proved  you  by  your  conduct.  You 
are  travelling  in  this  wild  country  to  escape  arrest. 
You  dare  not  go  to  London.  1  swore  if  I  ever  met 
Colonel  Windsor  that  I  would  shoot  him.  Being 
friends,  I  am  going  to  beat  you.  If  necessary, 
I  will  shoot  you  later.  If  you  have  any  arms, 
lay    them    aside.      This    is    a    hand-to-hand    en- 

counter." 

The  riddle  was  solved.  "  You  are  entirely  mis- 
taken, Dr.  Parks.  I  am  not  Jean  Grant's  hus- 
band '  though  I    should  be  God  knows:  I  am  her 

lover—" 

"What!  you  are?"  he  exclaimed  crestfallen. 

In  a  few  words,  I  explained  the  situation.  He 
grasped  my  hand  warmly,  "  We  are  both  hunting 
the  same  fox,"  he  said. 

He  told  me  of  his  great  love  for  Jean.  I  told 
him  that  n.y  once  strong  love  for  her  was  dead. 
Together  we  swore  \  o  rescue  her  and  bring  Colonel 
Windsor  to  punishr.^nt  From  that  moment  to 
the   present    we    have   been   brothers   in   all   but 

name. 

Rapidly  we  der.cended  the  river,  and  arrived 
safely  at  the  coast.  We  spent  a  fortnight  in  the 
small  Dutch  villages  preparatory  to  embarking  for 

London. 

At  this  point,  our  fascinating  companion,  Dr. 
Parks,  found  a  cart-load  of  mail  awaiting  him,  con- 


■MllMMiiil'nWWIiii 


accidentally  let 
conduct.  You 
to  escape  arrest. 
»re  if  I  ever  met 
)ot  him.  Being 
.  If  necessary, 
have  any  arms, 
and-to-hand  en- 
are  entirely  mis- 
in  Grant's  hus- 
:nows:  I  am  her 

(\  crestfallen. 
t:  situation.     He 
ire  both  hunting 

or  Jean.  I  told 
r  her  was  dead, 
nd  bring  Colonel 
that  moment  to 
thers   in   all   but 

i^er,    and   arrived 

fortnight  in  the 

to  embarking  for 


/£AX  GKANT. 


12; 


\ 

I 


companion, 


Dr. 


waiting  him,  con- 


sisting for  the  most  part  of  love-letters  and  London 
dailies. 

I  had  read  the  latter  over  and  over  again  without 
observing  any  items  of  very  much  interest.  But 
one  day.  while  [glancing  over  the  American  notes  in 
the  "  Thnnderi-r,"  I  was  struck  by  the  following: — 

"A  great  sensation  has  been  caused  at  Seaton,  a 
small  village  near  New  York,  by  the  cold-blooded 
murder  of  George  Wentworth,  a  rising  young  attor- 
ney of  splendid  abilities  and  promise.  He  was  to 
have  been  married  on  the  following  day  to  Miss 
Leonore  Sherman,  the  most  beautiful  and  talented 
young  lady  of  the  district  and  a  rich  heiress.  All 
the  detective  agencies  are  at  work,  and  it  is  believed 
the  murderer  will  soon  be  caught,  though,  as  yet 
not  even  the  slightest  clue  has  been  found.  Mr. 
Wentworth  left  the  house  of  his  intended  about 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening  and  nothing  further 
was  seen  or  heard  of  him  until  the  next  morning, 
wlieii  he  was  found  with  a  bullet  hole  through  his 
breast  concealed  under  a  small  bridge  at  the  outer 
limit  of  the  village,  Several  strange  inc'dents  have 
occurred  within  the  last  few  years,  near  this  bridge. 
A  few  years  ago,  Miss  Sherman's  elder  sister  eloped 
with  a  stranger  and  nothing  has  since  been  heard  of 
her.  It  is  conjectured  by  some  that  an  organized 
gang  has  been  formed  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining 
possession  of  the  persons  and  fortunes  of  these  young 
ladies.  The  whole  affair  is  involved  in  much  mys- 
tery. Wentworth  was  a  universal  favorite  wherever 
he  was  known,  and  great  sorrow  is  expressed  that 
his  brilliant  career  has  been  untimely  ended," 


I 


i 


it*: 

it 


p'- 


126 


/EAAT  GRANT. 


I  showed  this  column  to  Dr.  Parks.  He  took  it 
all  in  at  a  glance.  "  He  will  r.oon  be  arrested,"  he 
said  "  In  this  age  of  rapid  communication,  he  can- 
not long  escape  detection,  though  he  be  the  devil 
himself.  I  shall  dance  a  jig  at  his  funeral,  for  then 
Jean  sh'all  be  free  to  become  my  wife." 


IT 

I 


iMimiMWIT 


:s.  He  took  it 
e  arrested,"  he 
lication,  he  can- 
e  be  the  devil 
uineral,  for  then 


IT 

t 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

My  head  swam  with  mingled  feelings  of  anger  and 
sorrow,  as  I  read  these  words.  My  truest,  noblest 
friend,  dead  !  Murdered  by  u-iknown  hands!  Slain 
in  cold  blood  by  the  pistol  of  an  assassin  !  Waylaid 
and  done  to  death  !  And  on  that  fatal  bridge  ; 
Great  God  !  Was  that  bridge  the  very  gate  of  hell? 
At  its  mention  what  burning  and  long-banished 
memories  thronged  upon  me!  I  remembered  my 
dream.  It  was  no  doubt  true ;  my  merry-hearted 
friend  Wentworth  was  dead.  In  my  trunk  lay  my 
will  and  testament,  by  which  I  had  made  him  the 
sole  beneficiary  of  all  my  moneys  and  effects  at 
my  death.     And  he  was  dead  ! 

By  whom  had  he  been  murdered?  In  the  light 
of  past  events,  I  fully  believed  that  Colonel  Wind- 
sor was  connected,  in  some  way,  witli  this  murder. 
How  foolish  I  had  been  not  to  have  given  him  over 
to  the  hands  of  the  law  when  he  committed  his  first 
offence?  My  clemency  had  been  thrown  away.  He 
had  repaid  my  consideration  with  treachery,  and  in 
return  for  my  generous  silence,  he  had  defamed  my 
reputation,  and  robbed  me  of  all  earthly  happiness. 
Now  it  might  be  too  late.     He  had  been  my  sue- 


128 


JEAN  GRANT. 


U    I 


cessful  rival  in  a  love  affair.  Who  would  now  credit 
my  story  ?  Who  would  now  believe  that  Colonel 
Windsor  had  libelled  me  and  attempted  my  life? 
Every  one  would  laugh  at  my  allegations,  and  attrib- 
ute them  to  envy  or  malice.  No  ;  I  must  not  now  re- 
vive old  charges.     It  was  too  late. 

Suddenly  I  was  seized  by  an  intense  desire  to  re- 
visit Seatoii,  and  as  I  had  nothing  to  live  for  but 
the  gratification  of  my  desires,  I  bade  my  compan- 
ions adieu,  abandoned  for  the  time  being  my 
exploring  enterprises,  and  took  passage  direct  for 
New  York.  - 

I  shall  pass  over  my  homeward  voyage.  I  was  so 
engrossed  with  the  one  idea  of  getting  back  to  Sea- 
ton,  and  if  necessary  spending  my  last  cent  in 
bringing  to  justice  the  murderer  of  George  Went- 
worth,  that  no  incident  or  accident  impressed  me. 

It  is  spring.  New  York  at  last !  "  America,  dear 
land  of  my  birth ;  land  of  my  fathers ;  land  of  free- 
dom ! "  I  shouted  with  reverent,  almost  religious 
fervor,  as  I  set  my  feet  on  American  soil. 

The  d.iy  following  I  was  received  at  Dunmore  by 
Leonore  and  her  mother,  with  as  much  joy  and  as 
hearty  a  welcome  as  was  compatible  with  their 
melancholy  condition. 

Soon  I  was  made  acquainted  with  the  particulars 
of  Wentworth's  murder,  which  differed  little  from 
the  account  of  it  I  had  read  in  the  newspaper. 

Wentvvorth,  they  informed  me,   had   for  a  con- 


1 


)  would  now  credit 
ieve  that  Colonel 
tempted  my  life  ? 
Rations,  and  attrib- 
I  must  not  now  re- 
tense  desire  to  re- 
ing  to  live  for  but 
bade  my  compan- 
time  being  my 
passage   direct  for 

voyage.  I  was  so 
:tting  back  to  Sea- 
my last  cent  in 
of  George  Went- 
it  impressed  me. 
!  "  America,  dear 
lers ;  land  of  free- 
:,  almost  religious 
can  soil. 

ed  at  Dunmore  by 
;  much  joy  and  as 
patible   with   their 

I'ith  the  particulars 
differed  little  from 
e  newspaper, 
e,   had   for  a  con- 


J 


JEAN  GRANT. 


129 


siderable  time  prior  to  his  murder,  been  the  recipient 
of  various  threatening  letters,  which  left  no  doubt  in 
their  minds  as  to  who  was  the  actor  or  at  all  events 
the  inspirer  of  the  crime. 

Poor  Jean !  she  had  never  been  heard  from. 
Evidently  her  punishment  had  been  greater  than 
she  deserved 

Mrs.  Sherman  and  Leonore  both  heartily  seconded 
my  determination  of  ferreting  out  the  perpetrator 
of  these  crimes,  and  offered  to  contribute  whatever 
funds  were  necessary  for  that  purpose.  I  at  once 
set  to  work.  I  published  accurate  pen  pictures  of 
Colonel  Windsor,  describing  as  minutely  as  I  could, 
his  appearance,  size,  features  and  the  characters 
which  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  assuming,  and 
had  them  disseminated  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  country.  Every  detective  agency  in 
the  United  States  was  set  to  work;  largely  aug- 
mented detective  staffs  were  equipped  at  our  own 
expense  to  operate  from  the  leading  centres.  The 
money  spent  in  telegrams  alone  amounted  some- 
times to  one  thousand  dollars  a  week.  We  offered 
a  reward  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  for  the 
arrest  and  conviction  of  the  murderer  of  George 
Wentworth,  and  the  Police  Department  supple- 
mented this  by  an  additional  reward  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars. 

Meanwhile,  Dr,  Parks  was  at  work  in  London,  try- 
ing to  find  his  lost  clew,  I  received  a  letter  from  hjm 
9 


Mr 


„* 


tao 


/EAJV  GRANT. 


which  gave  me  hope  and  encouragement.  He  de- 
scribed at  great  length  his  efforts  to  find  Jean  and 
concluded  most  hopefully,  "  I  have  at  length  ascer- 
tained  where  he  had  her  confined  whilst  we  were  in 
Papua.  From  the  proprietor  of  this  institution,  who 
refused  to  retain  Jean  on  discovering  her  sanity,  I 
have  learned  much  that  will  be  of  importance  in 
prosecuting  our  search.  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  I  shall  find  her  soon." 

The  threatening  letters  before  referred  to,  bore  the 
New  York  postmark  ;  it  was  in  New  York  that  Jean 
and  Leonore  first  formed  the  acquaintance  of  Col- 
onel Windsor  ;  every  circumstance  indicated  that 
tliat  city  was  the  locus  operandi  of  the  perpetrator. 
1  had  that  city,  therefore,  literally  studded  with 
private  detectives,  who  reported  to  me  every  Satur- 
day night. 

With  all  these  inducements  to  open  the  mouths 
of  accomplices,  with  all  these  agencies  at  work,  a 
year  had  rolled  by  and  nothing  had  been  accom- 
plished. I  urged  Mrs.  Sherman  to  spend  no  more 
of  her  money  in  the  vain  pursuit,  lest  poverty  might 
be  added  to  the  already  intolerable  burdens  she  had 
to  bear.  She  laughed  at  my  remonstrance.  What 
would  a  mother  not  g've  to  secure  the  punishment, 
of  an  infamous  man  who  had  caused  her  the  loss  of 
one  daughter  and  the  ruin  of  the  hopes  and  pros- 
pects  of  another. 

During  the  next  year,  I  continued  to  operate  at 


jement.  He  de- 
o  find  Jean  and 
:  at  length  ascer- 
ifhilst  we  were  in 
institution,  who 
ng  her  sanity,  I 
of  importance  in 
every  reason  to 

erred  to,  bore  the 
X  York  that  Jean 
uaintance  of  Col- 
e  indicated  that 
the  perpetrator, 
ly  studded  with 
)  me  every  Satur- 

open  the  mouths 
encies  at  work,  a 
had  been  accom- 
D  spend  no  more 
est  poverty  might 
:  burdens  she  had 
jnstrance.  What 
:  the  punishment, 
ed  her  the  loss  of 
e  hopes  and  pros- 

ued  to  operate  at 


/EA.V  GRANT. 


■W< 


my  own  expense  entirely,  but  with  unabated  per- 
sistence. 

I  had,  all  along,  been  doing  my  best  to  find  the 
whereabouts  of  Professor  Sydney,  the  teacher  of 
music  and  dancing  at  the  seminary,  who  had  first  in- 
troduced Jean  and  Leonore  to  Colonel  Windsor.  I 
had  learned  from  Leonore  the  manner  in  which  their 
acquaintance  was  brought  about.  It  had  been  ef- 
fected by  a  letter  of  recommendation  and  introduc- 
tion from  the  Professor. 

From  what  she  told  me,  it  appeared  that  Profes- 
sor Sydney  was  a  tall,  compactly  built,  dark-eyed 
man,  bearing  a  rather  striking  resemblance  to 
Colonel  Windsor.  At  first,  I  thought  little  of  this 
resemblance  which  I  considered  might  be  only  casual, 
but  when  the  most  diligent  search  failed  to  locate 
Professor  Sydney,  this  idea  gradually  worked  itself 
into  the  strength  of  a  conviction  that  Colonel 
Windsor  and  Professor  Sydney  must  have  been 
related  to  each  other.  Most  likely  they  -were 
brothers. 

So  strongly  had  this  notion  taken  possession  of 
my  mind  that  I  felt  convinced  that  if  I  could  find 
Professor  Sydney,  1  should  be  able  to  unravel  the 
mystery. 

All  at  once,  a  new  idea  dawned  on  me.  Might 
they  not  be  one  and  the  same  person?  I  took 
train  at  once  for  Seaton  to  obtain  Leonore's  opinion. 

I  asked  her  if  the  resemblance  was  remarkable. 


132 


JEAU  GRANT. 


11 


It  was.  Not  only  did  it  extend  to  the  features  and 
form  but  also  to  the  movements,  voice  and  deport- 
ment.  This  confirmed  to  some  extent  my  suspicion. 

She  had  never  seen  the  two  men  together, 
though  they  professed  to  be  intimate  friends. 
Once  or  twice,  Colonel  Windsor  officiated  at  the 
college  during  the  absence  of  the  Professor.  At 
last  I  communicated  my  conjecture  to  Leonore.  It 
was  a  revelation  to  her.  She  at  once  coincided 
with  my  opinion.  The  college  girls  had  often 
commented  on  the  unaccountable  s'militude.  This 
theory,  which  had  never  occurred  to  their  unsuspect- 
ing minds,  would  explain  the  matter  most  satisfac- 
torily. She  felt  certain  they  were  one  and  the  same 
person. 

I  at  once  returned  to  New  York  and  Interviewed 
Professor  Weldon,  the  principal  of  the  college. 
Sydney  had  left  the  employ  of  that  institution 
several  years  ago.  The  principal  was  at  first  some- 
what reticent,  but  on  being  informed  of  the  nature 
of  my  mission  became  more  communicative. 

"What  record,  if  any,  do  you  keep  of  your 
teachers.  Professor  Weldon  ?  "  I  enquired. 

"  None  at  all— scarcely  any,  at  least.  We  merely 
assign  each  teacher  his  work  on  the  time-table,"  he 
replied. 

"  Do  you  not  take  down  the  name  and  address  of 
each  teacher  ?  "  I  asked. 

'•  Oh  yes,  we  do  that." 


lie  features  and 
ice  and  deport- 
t  my  suspicion, 
men  together, 
;imate  friends, 
fflciated  at  the 
Professor.  At 
;o  Leonore.  It 
once  coincided 
jirls  had  often 
tnilitude.  This 
their  unsuspect- 
•  most  satisfac- 
le  and  the  same 

,nd  Interviewed 
3f  the  college, 
that  institution 
is  at  first  some- 
d  of  the  nature 
licative. 

keep   of  your 
uired. 
St.    We  merely 

time-table,"  he 

i  and  address  of 


/EAJV  GRAiVT. 


133 


"  Do  you  record  any  of  the  past  history  of  your 
teachers?" 

"  No  ;  we  have  not  made  a  habit  of  doing  so." 

"Do  you  not  take  a  minute  of  where  he  last 
taught?" 

"  No,  we  do  not ;  of  course  we  generally  inquire 
for  these,  as  well  as  many  other  particulars,  when  a 
teacher  applies  for  a  situation  in  our  school,  but 
they  are  nevur  committed  to  writing." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  will  be  still  less  interested 
as  to  where  he  goes  after  he  leaves  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  Professor,  who  was  a  tall,  spare,  erect,  well 
dressed,  scholarly  look  ng  man,  with  faded,  yet 
piercing  gray  eyes,  pale  ;:haven  face,  and  of  an 
extremely  cautious  nature,  looking  at  me  steadily 
while  I  asked  him  these  questions,  and  having  fully 
satisfied  himself  that  he  was  not  being  subjected  to 
imposture,  rose  from  his  seat,  opened  his  secretary 
and  drew  from  one  of  the  drawers  a  small  square 
diary ;  with  methodical  despatch  he  turned  to  the 
index,  then  to  the  page  on  which  the  teachers  in  the 
department  of  music  and  dancing,  had  at  his  re- 
quest, written  their  names  and  addresses.  ,  From 
this  he  continued  in  a  studious  undertone  to  recite 
to  me  as  follows  : 

"W.  Sydney,  Professor  of  music  and  dancing; 
entered  service  Jan'y  1st,  i8— .  Left  service 
July  20th,  i8— ,  79  Ford  Street." 


.!     :•*' 


ii:: 


JEAN  GRANT. 

"  That  is  all,"  he  said,  closing  the  book  and  turn- 
ing on  me  once  more  his  steady,  inquiring  eyes. 

"  Will  you  kindly  allow  me  to  see  the  handwrit- 
ing of  Professor  Sydney?  "  1  asked. 

"  Certainly."  ) 

"  Is  this  his  own  handwriting  ?  " 

"  I  presume  so.  My  rule  is  to  ask  each  new 
teacher  to  come  to  my  library  and  fill  in  these  par- 
ticulars." 

"  Had  you  ever  any  correspondence  with  Pro- 
fessor Sydney?" 

"  None.     None  whatever." 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  rudeness,  Pro- 
fessor Weldoti.  I  assure  you  that  nothing  short  of 
the  serious  business  I  have  in  hand,  would  prompt 
me  to  address  you  in  this  categorical  way.  Here 
is  the  address  of  my  bankers.  Should  you  desire 
to  learn  anything  regarding  me  they  will  be  pleased 
at  any  time  to  satisfy  you." 

"I  am  entirely  at  your  service,"  he  said  bowing 
gracefully. 

"Thank  you.  There  are  a  few  more  things 
which  I  should  like  to  know.  Have  you  any  mem- 
ory or  record  of  the  recommendations  which  he 
submitted  with  his  application?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Garland,"  he  continued, 
with  increasing  politeness,  "that  I  have  not.  I 
have  forgotten  them,  and  such  papers  are  not  kept 
on  file  by  our  board." 


~iiia(um»nmxseBm<mtrnmt»Mltiiei*mme» 


e  book  and  turn- 

juiring  eyes. 

ee  the  handwrit- 


)  ask  each  new 
fill  in  these  par- 

dence  with   Pro- 


rudeness,  Pro- 
nothing  short  of 
i,  would  prc'.npt 
ical  way.  Here 
ould  you  desire 
y  will  be  pleased 

*  he  said  bowing 

ew  more  things 
/e  you  any  mem- 
ations  which   he 

I,"  he  continued, 

I    have   not.     I 

)ers  are  not  kept 


/EAAT  GRANT. 


135 


"I  suppose,  Professor  VVeldon,  that  on  his  leav- 
ing your  school,  he  asked  you  for  a  testimonial  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  It  seeins  to  me  he  did  not 
even  send  in  a  written  resignation.  He  simply 
informed  me  that  he  would  not  be  back  after  the 
vacation.  I  have  never  seen  nor  heard  of  him  since. 
But  I  may  say,  Mr.  Garland,  that  I  was  glad  when 
I  knew  he  intended  leaving  our  school.  There  was 
something  about  the  man  which  I  did  not  like. 
He  was  a  deep,  designing-looking  man.  I  had  no 
confidence  in  him.  If  he  is  guilty  of  the  of- 
fences you  charge  him  with,  I  trust  he  may  be 
brought  to  justice,  but  I  do  not  know,  Mr.  Garland, 
that  I  can  in  any  way  further  that  object,  much  as 
I  should  like  to  do  so." 

After  some  casual  conversation,  I  bade  the 
Professor  adieu.  I  had  gained  but  one  point 
which  might  be  of  any  use  to  me.  I  had  ascertained 
Professor  Sydney's  former  address.  I  had  also  seen 
his  handwriting  which  might  or  might  not  be  of 
service  to  me. 

That  evening  I  presented  myself  at  79  Ford 
street.  I  rang  the  bell.  The  door  was  opened  by 
an  oldish  woman  with  a  good-natured  face.  I 
wished  to  know  if  she  could  accommodate  a  single 
gentleman  with  a  room  for  a  few  weeks.  She  had 
rooms  to  rent.  She  asked  me  to  step  inside  and 
showed  me  through  the  different  apartments,  gar- 
rulously  expatiating  on   their  many   merits  as  we 


i 


Ik 


n 


136 


/EAJV^  GRANT. 


15"''. 


passed  through  them.  1  was  not  hard  to  satisfy 
with  a  room,  and  I  was  not  sorry  to  find  Mrs. 
Wood  extremely  loquacious.  I  devoted  a  couple 
of  weeks  ingratiating  myself  into  the  good  graces  of 
the  kind  old  lady.  I  was  a  gentleman  of  leisure,  I 
informed  her.  Sometimes  I  travelled.  Sometimes 
I  did  a  little  magazine  writing.  Each  time  I  paid 
my  room-rent,  I  handed  her  therewith,  a  few  dol- 
lars of  a  gratuity,  which  she  invariably  accepted 
with  as  much  surprise  as  gratitude.  Like  most  of 
persons  who  follow  her  business,  she  was  fond  of 
catechising.  Her  methods  of  leading  from  the 
known  to  the  unknown  would  have  done  infinite 
credit  to  Socrates  himself.  * 

In  this  way,  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Wood,  who 
had  kept  the  house  she  was  now  residing  in  for 
over  twenty  years,  could  give  a  succinct  history  of 
almost  every  boarder  sVie  had  had. 

She  found  in  me  an  easy  victim.  I  had  little  to 
conceal,  and  much  to  reveal.  I  used  to  sit  hour 
after  hour  in  my  small  sitting-room,  relating  the 
incidents  and  adventures  of  my  nomadic  life  to  her 
greedy  ears.  I  even  went  so  far  as  to  tell  her  the 
full  details  of  my  sad  experiences  at  Seaton.  She 
was  a  pious,  tender-hearted  old  lady,  and  so  she 
sympathized  deeply  with  the  sufTerings  of  human- 
ity in  general,  and  mine  in  particular.  One  thing 
I  kept  hidden— the  name  of  the  culprit  of  whom  I 
was  in  search. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


'37 


hard  to  satisfy 
ry  to  find  Mrs. 
ivoted  a  couple 
t  good  graces  of 
an  of  leisure,  I 
ed.  Sometimes 
ach  time  I  paid 
:vvitli,  a  few  dol- 
iriably  accepted 
'..  Like  most  of 
jhe  was  fond  of 
ding  from  the 
ve  done  infinite 

firs.  Wood,  who 
'  residing  in  for 
:cinct  history  of 

I  had  little  to 
ised  to  sit  hour 
)m,  relating  the 
madic  life  to  her 
to  tell  her  the 
at  Seaton.  She 
idy,  and  so  she 
rings  of  human- 
ilar.  One  thing 
ilprit  of  whom  I 


In  this  way,  I  completely  won  the  confidence  of 
Mrs.  Wood.  But  I  was  feeling  impatient.  She 
had  described  many  of  her  lodgers  to  me,  but  as 
yet  none  who  corresponded  with  my  man. 

I  desisted  as  long  as  I  could  from  direct  interrog- 
atories, thinking  that  a  voluntary  statement  would 
give  me  much  more  reliable  information. 

One  day  I  introduced  the  Ladies'  College  into 
our  talk,  by  saying  that  certain  of  my  lady  friends 
were  attending  that  school.  My  landlady  was 
astonishingly  conversant  with  the  institution.  Her 
pew  in  the  church  was  directly  in  the  rear  of  the 
college  pews.  She  had  for  years  kept  herself 
posted,  by  means  of  her  church  connection,  in  the 
affairs  of  the  school — even  down  to  the  names  of 
the  pupils.  She  knew  all  the  professors  well,  and 
one  of  them.  Professor  Windsor  Sydney,  had 
roomed  in  her  house  for  several  years. 

"Professor  Windsor  Sydney!"  My  suspicion 
was  correct :  another  link  in  the  long  chain  of  du- 
plicity and  dissimulation ;  another  step  towards 
bringing  to  punishment  this  many-named  gentle- 
man. My  heart  beat  rapidly  at  this  new  revelation. 
I  could  with  difficulty  repress  my  feelings.  After 
two  long  years  of  painful,  futile  search,  I  had  at 
last  found  a  clue.  I  forgot  it  was  but  a  slender 
clue ;  I  forgot  that  I  was  as  far  as  ever  from  being 
able  to  point  my  finger  at  the  murderer  of  my  best 
friend,  and  say,  "Thou  art  the  man  !  "    Already  he 


138 


JEAN  GRANT. 


X  . 


seemed  to  be  in  my  grasp.  My  talkative  hostess 
did  not  need  to  be  interrogated;  all  1  had  to  do 
was  to  express  myself  as  being  interested  in  a 
particular  person  and  she  would  rattle  off  his 
whole  life  with  the  volubility  of  a  Dr.  John- 
stone. J      „  u 

"  Professor  Windsor  Sydney !  "  I  repeated.  He 
was  a  fine  musician.  I  believe,  was  he  not  ?  Used 
to  compose  and  play  a  great  deal,  did  he  not,  Mrs. 

Wood  ? "  ..     ,      u 

"That's  the  same-the  very  same,     she  begarj. 
"  He  was  the  handsomest  and  the  cleverest  and  the 
intelligentest  and  the  satisfactoriest  gentleman  as  I 
ever  had  in  under  my  roof-hc  was -the  same  Pro- 
fessor  Sydney.     But  none  of  us  is  good-no    not 
one   of   us-as   the   good    Book   speaketh    and  he 
wasn't  all  good,  that  same  gentleman.     He  had  a 
temper-oh.  such  a  temper!     I  often  told  h.m  he 
would  kill  somebody  some  day-he  would-I  told 
him  so.     He  said  he  was  an   English  gentleman  s 
son.     His  father  was  very  rich,  he  said.     He  was 
alius   awating   for  his  'ship  to  come  in'-he  was 
But   his   ship   never  come.     If   it  had  of   come    I 
would  be  hundreds  of  dollars  better  off-I  would^ 
And  that's  not  all-it's  not.     Since  he  left  me  1 
have  been  told  that  he  never  was  the  son  of  a  Lng- 
lish  gentleman-he  wasn't.     Think  of  that  now,  Mr 
Garland-think  of  that  now.     Such  roguery-and 
from   a  Professor-hoxn   a  Professor !     W  hat   will 


'"^m 


JEAN  GRANT. 


»39 


ilUative  hostess 
all  1  had  to  do 
interested  in  a 
rattle  off  his 
•f  a  Dr.  John- 
repeated.  "  He 
he  not  ?  Used 
iid  he  not,  Mrs. 

ne."  she  began. 
:leverest  and  the 
t  gentleman  as  I 
i  — the  same  Pro- 
s  good — no,  not 
peaketli,  and  he 
man.     He  had  a 
;ten  told  him  he 
le  would— I  told 
^lish  gentleman's 
le  said.     He  was 
3me  in' — he  was. 
had  of   come,  I 
:tcr  off — I  would, 
nee  he  left  me  I 
the  son  of  a  Eng- 
k  of  that  now,  Mr. 
Lich  roguery — and 
$sor !     What   will 


common  folks  do  if  a  Professor  will  do  such  things 
as  these — such  bad  things  as  these  !  " 

"What  did  he  do  with  his  salary  Mrs.  Wood.'" 

"Gambled — gambled — do  you  know  what  gam- 
bling is?  It's  playing  cards  for  money — it's  bet- 
ting and  losing — betting  and  losing.  He  used  to 
tell  me  he  had  to  give  all  his  money  to  educate  his 
sister — he  did — and  he  never  had  a  sister.  I  know 
that  now — I  do  !  " 

"  I  consider  that  he  dealt  with  you  in  a  very  un- 
gentlemanly  manner,  indeed,  Mrs.  Wood." 

"  That  he  did  !— that  he  did  !  Mr.  Garland." 

"I  suppose  it  was  bad  company  ruined  him." 

"  Bad  company  I  Tliere  could  be  no  worse  com- 
pany  than  himself — there  couldn't." 

"Where  has  he  gone?  What  has  become  of 
him  ?  Has  he  left  the  city  ?  Why  caimot  you  get 
your  money  from  him  ?  " 

"That  I  don't  know— I  don't." 

"  Has  he  ever  written  you  ?" 

"  Never  a  word.  Folks  as  don't  pay  their  board 
don't  write  no  lo"e-letters  to  their  landladies — they 
don't.     Never  a  word." 

'*  Have  you  never  seen  him  on  the  streets  of  the 
city,  nor  heard  where  he  went  after  leaving  your 
place  ?  " 

"Never  seen  nor  heard  of  him — not  I." 

"Now,  my  good  Mrs.  Wood,  I  assure  you  I  am 
not  asking  you  so  many  questions  merely  to  gratify 


I40 


JEAN  GRANT. 


I 


an    idle   curiosity.     I  will  be  candid  with  you 
feel  that  I  can  trust  you  with  a  great  secret—" 

"Secret!     Indeed  that  you  can.     I  never  let  a 
secret  slip — I  dnn't." 

"Then  1  must  inform  you  that  I  know  this  man, 
Professor  Windsor  Sydney,  to  my  great  loss." 

'•  Ah,  you  lent  him  money— then  it's  gone  money 

— It  IS — 

"  Worse  than  that.      He  has  robbed  me  of — " 
"  Robbed  ?     The   Lord  have  mercy  on    him.     I 
told    him    he  would   come   to  that— I   told    him 

so.'' 

"  He  has  not  robbed  me  of  my  money.  If  that 
were  all,  I  would  think  it  a  small  matter.  He  has 
robbed  me  of  happiness  and  hope,  of  friends  and 
friendships— to  be  plain  with  you,  Mrs.  Wood,  I 
should  tell  you  that  I  am  sure  beyond  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt,  that  this  man  is  the  villain  who  has 
caused  me  all  the  troubles  1  spoke  to  you  about  a 
few  days  ago." 

"The  Lord  have  mercy  on  him!  Him  that  lied 
about  you  to  your  sweetheart  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  that  coaxed  her  to  elope  with  him  so  that 
he  might  get  her  money  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  that  murdered  your  friend  ?  " 

"I  believe  he  has  done  all  these  things." 

"  I  told  him  so — I  told  him  so— some  folks  thinks 


did  with  you.     I 

eat  secret — " 

n.     I  never  let  a 

I  know  this  man, 

great  loss." 

n  it's  gone  money 

abed  me  of — " 
lercy  on   him.     I 
hat— I   told    him 

/  money.  If  that 
matter.  He  has 
36,  of  friends  and 
)u,  Mrs,  Wood,  I 
eyond  the  shadow 
le  villain  who  has 
ke  to  you  about  a 

n!     Him  that  lied 


e  with  him  so  that 


nd?" 

e  things." 

—some  folks  thinks 


/£:aa/  grant. 


141 


as  I  don't  know  nothing,  Mr,  Garland,  but  when  I 
prophesy — it  allcrs  comes  to  pass — it  does." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Wood,  you  may  be  able  to  help  us 
bring  this  man  to  justice.  There  is  a  reward  of 
$120,000  offered  to  any  person  who  will  give  such 
information  as  will  bring  him  to  punishment." 

The  good  woman  seemed  startled  by  the  mention 
of  such  a  large  sum.  She  at  once  began  instituting 
inquiries,  and  promised  to  do  her  very  best  to  track 
the  tiger  to  his  den. 

I  returned  to  Seaton,  glad  to  have  obtained  some 
new  information  to  communicate. 


■w iwiiwMBiii*^-  lw<».Mfciafe<iAiiiiBgr>afwawiiiW-»*^^  <«««i-fe^ 


CHAPTER  XV.  , 

Nature  is  stronger  than  resolution — as  the 
whole  is  greater  than  its  part,  or  the  actor  greater 
than  the  act.  Beneficent  Providence  has  balanced 
our  sensibilities  on  such  an  admirable  self-adjusting 
fulcrum  that,  throw  them  out  of  order  as  we  may  ; 
encumber  them  with  loss,  danger  and  doubt ;  crush 
them  into  apparent  extinction ;  paralyze  them  by 
misfortune,  disappointment  and  grief;  unhinge 
them,  upset  them,  unbalance  them,  as  we  may,  they 
will  in  time,  arrange  themselves  into  harmony,  equi- 
poise and  symmetry. 

Time,  if  it  is  the  greatest  detective  of  all  and  the 
greatest  avenger  of  wrong,  is,  also,  the  greatest  re- 
warder  of  right,  the  greatest  balm  for  the  wounded 
spirit,  the  greatest  healer  of  the  broken  heart,  the 
greatest  tonic  for  the  enfeebled  nerve,  the  great 
elixir  of  human  life. 

How  bitter  a  task  would  life  become  if  the  bur- 
dens of  yesterday's  sorrow  were  not  lightened  to- 
day, and  the  fears  of  to-morrow  burnt,  as  a  sacrifice, 
on  the  altar  of  to-day's  hope  ! 

What  had  time  done  for  me?  Much  that  was 
beneficent.      The  itinerant,  adventurous  life  I  had 


JEAN  GRANT, 


143 


ution — as  the 
2  actor  greater 
e  has  balanced 
e  self-adjusting 
ler  as  we  may  ; 
1  doubt ;  crush 
alyze  them  by 
jrief ;  unliinge 
LS  we  may,  they 
harmony,  equi- 

t  of  all  and  the 
:he  greatest  re- 
ar the  wounded 
oken  heart,  the 
2rve,  the   great 

)me  if  the  bur- 
it  lightened  to- 
tt,  as  a  sacrifice, 

Much  that  was 
reus  life  I  had 


lived,  for  a  few  years  after  my  real-life  drama  at 
Dunmore,  had  revealed  many  hitherto  unknown 
phases  of  human  life  and  character,  and  deeply  im- 
pressed me  with  the  immeasurable  vastness  of  the 
created  system,  when  contrasted  with  the  infinitesi- 
mal littleness  of  my  own,  or  any  other's  individual 
experience.  One  living  in  solitude  soon  considers 
himself  pretty  much  all  there  is  in  the  world,  and 
indulges  himself  in  the  fretful  fancy,  that,  if  his 
head  aches,  the  solar  system  should  proclaim  a  con- 
dolence-day and  cease  its  unsympathetic  revolu- 
tions. Moving  in  the  world's  great  circulation,  one 
thinks  of  himself  as  a  drop  in  the  ocean,  as  a  grain 
of  sand  by  the  sea-shore,  washed  hither  and  thither 
by  the  ebbing  and  flowing  tides;  and  having  his  re- 
lations  to  men  and  things  thus  correctly  defined, 
has  broader  notions  of  things  in  general,  is  less  self- 
esteemed,  more  objective,  more  sympathetic,  more 
cosmopolitan. 

Such  are  some  of  the  changes  the  passing  years 
had  been  effecting  on  me.  I  had  learned,  too,  to 
think  better  of  my  kind,  and  that  the  whole  race 
should  not  be  condemned  because  one  man  was  a 
devil  incarnate.  All  these  higher  and  more  humane 
thoughts  were  largely  the  result  of  my  improved 
bodily  condition.  As  a  rule,  the  mind  follows  the 
temperament  of  the  body. 

Then,  again,  I  had  an  object  to  attain ;  my  whole 
soul  was.set  on  getting  to  the  bottom  of  the  wicked 


lJ^'- 


JEAN  GRANT. 

plot   which  had  deprived  me  and  my   friends  of 
our   happiness;   and   when   a  man  is  working   for 
an   object,  he   will   soon   cure   himself   of  apathy, 
misanthrophy   and    melancholia.      Ever  since   my 
return  from  the  heart  of  Papua,  which,  in  memory,, 
seemed  then,  and  seems  yet,  a   vision  of  unspeak- 
able   romance    and    beauty    and    luxuriance— the 
broad,   placid   river  widening   into   lakes   of   more 
than    Italian   azure   and    gold;    the    gently   undu- 
lating   banks   covered    with    flowers   of    prismatic 
brilliancy   towering  aloft  in  their  exuberance  like 
trees;    the    love-lorn   Guan,   her   palace    of    gold, 
her   matchless   beauty  and   her   truant   lover;   the 
Beautiful  Lake  ;  the  models  of  sculpture,  painting 
and  architecture,  still  blazing  under  the  torrid  sun 
from  the  majestic  ruins  of  an  extinguished  Renais- 
sance, "The  Mountatn  of  Gold,"— ever  since  my  re- 
turn from  these  striking  scents,  my  health  had  been 
steadily  improving,  until,  once  again,  I  felt  I  was 
myself.     My  body  was  strong;  my  step  had  never 
been  more  elastic  ;  my  senses  and  sensibilities  were 

■  clear, 

A  second  letter  from  Dr.  Parks  assured  me  that 
he  was  on  the  trail  and  would  soon  run  down  his 
quarry.  "There  is  only  one  step,"  the  letter  said, 
"  between  me  and  victory.  Expect  to  hear  from  me 
in  a  few  days.  As  I  near  the  end  of  love's  long 
labor,  I,  stoic  as  I  am,  am  quite  upset.  When  I 
think  of  Jean,  her  beauty,  her  charm  of  manner,  her 


JEAN  GRANT. 


ly    friends   of 
working   for 
If   of  apathy, 
/er  since   my 
1,  in  memory, 
\  of  unspeak- 
xiiriance — tlie 
akes   of   more 
gently   undu- 
of    prismatic 
cuberance  like 
lace    of    gold, 
nt   lover ;   the 
oture,  painting 
the  torrid  sun 
Liishcd  Renais- 
er  since  my  re- 
eallh  had  been 
I,  I  felt  I  was 
tcp  had  never 
nsibilities  were 

issured  me  that 
1  run  down  his 
the  letter  said, 
o  hear  from  me 

of  love's  long 
pset.    When  I 

of  manner,  her 


joy  at  being  again  delivered  from  bondage  (and  be- 
lieve me.  Garland,  I  can  think  of  nothing  else),  I 
am  quite  beside  myself  with  happiness." 

Was  there  any  other  cause  for  my  rapid  convales- 
cence ?  Perhaps  there  was.  Looking  back  in  the 
light  of  subsequent  events,  I  am  strongy  disposed 
to  believe  that  there  was  a  more  potent  agency  at 
work  among  the  collapsed  materials  of  my  moral 
nature.  But  at  that  time  I  was  nconscious  of  its 
influence.    What  was  it? 

Did  I  love  Leonore?  No;  not  in  the  ordinary 
acceptation  of  that  phrase.  During  the  last  two 
years,  Dunmore  had  been  my  home ;  Leonore  and 
her  mother  had  been  my  confidants — more,  my 
sister  and  my  mother. 

Wherever  my  strange  mission  called  me,  I  never 
'orgot  that  it  was  their  wrongs  more  than  my  own 
I     iV"  seeking  to  avenge.     My  own,  were  forgotten 

.  tiiiost  so.  But  I  could  not  remember  with  less 
04-.10W,  or  less  anger,  the  terrible  fate  of  poor  Jean, 
the  blighted  prospects  of  Leonore,  the  sorrowful 
lines  that  now  marred  the  saintly  face  of  Mrs. 
Sherman,  and  the  unprovoked,  brutal  murder  of  my 
noblest  and  truest  friend,  George  Wentworth.  I 
made  it  a  point  to  spend  Sunday,  as  often  as  possi- 
ble, at  Dunmore  ;  on  these  occasions  we  usually 
went  to  church  together  in  the  morning,  and  spent 
the  afternoon  and  evening  in  conversation  and 
reading.     Leonore  and  her  mother  had  withdrawn 


10 


^' 


14^ 


JEAN  GRANT. 


exclusively  from  society  at  the  time  of  Jearr's  elope- 
ment. They  were  always  glad  to  welcome  me  on 
my  return  to  Dunmore,  and  while  there,  they 
treated  me  with  more  deference  and  kindness  than 
I  deserved  or  desired.  -       .    /:  i 

I  need  not  say  that  I  did  all  in  my  power  to 
alleviate  their  sorrow  and  add  to  their  comfort. 
Sadly  and  deeply  I  sympathized  with  these  two 
lonely  women.  7  could  not  help  contrasting  the 
bright,  joyous  and  lovely  group  that  used  to 
assemble  around  the  family  hearth  at  Dunmore, 
with  the  two  broken-hearted  women  who  sat  there 
now. 

In  my  silent  hours,  I  inwardly  condemned  my- 
self  for  ever  having  entered  that  home.  Nothing 
had  prospered  at  Dunmore  since  that  distant  morn- 
ing on  which  I  was  brought,  a  hopeless  invalid, 
within  its  walls.  And,  yet,  I  had  done  no  wrong. 
I  had  preserved  my  conscience  void  of  offence 
toward  all  men.  The  fault  was  not  mine.  There 
existed  a  plot,  a  conspiracy  to  thwart  my  purposes 
and  defeat  my  enterprises.  Why  it  should  exist 
or  of  whom  it  consisted,  I  could  but  conjecture. 
But  it  pained  me  to  know  that  the  operations  of 
my  enemies  should  not  only  be  directed  towards 
myself,  but  also  towards  my  most  innocent  and 
unsuspecting  friends. 

Leonore  and  I  had  much  in  common.  Ours  was 
the  kinship  of   sorrow,    the  bonds  woven   by  the 


JEAN  GRANT. 


M7 


F  Jeair's  elope- 
Iconie  me  on 
:  there,  they 
kindness  than 

my  power  to 
heir  comfort, 
ith  these  two 
)ntrasting  the 
that  used  to 
at  Dunmore, 
who  sat  there 

indemned  my- 
me.     Nothing 

distant  morn- 
peless  invaUd, 
jne  no  wrong. 
)id   of   offence 

mine.  There 
t  my  purposes 
:  should  exist 
lut  conjecture. 
;  operations  of 
rected  towards 

innocent  and 

lon.  Ours  was 
woven  by  the 


hand  of  affliction.  We  had  each  loved  and  lost. 
We  had  each  lost,  not  by  the  hand  of  natural  death 
— I,  by  the  tongue  of  envy,  malice  and  falsehood  ; 
she  by  the  assassin's  bullet  ;  both  by  the  treachery 
and  malevolence  of  one  and  the  same  man. 

We  were  friends.  Our  friendship  was  of  the 
quiet,  sad,  undemonstrative  sort.  It  was  founded 
on  mutual  pity,  which  begot  mutual  affection. 

Lee  .ore  was  a  beautiful  woman.  It  would  br 
hard  to  describe  her.  Rather  tall,  slight,  finely 
formed  and  lissome  ;  high  brows,  oval  face  taper- 
ing down  to  a  pretty  chin,  red  lips,  transparent 
nostrils,  straight,  slender  nose,  fair  complexion, 
cle.^r  amber  eyes  not  too  large,  but  expressive  of 
cordiality,  candor  and  fidelity  ;  eye-brows,  brown 
and  well-arched,  lashes  long;  over  all,  a  profuse 
wealth  of  golden  hair.  Her  disposition  was  noble, 
generous,  forgiving,  loving.  Her  manners  and 
deportment  were  queenly. 

Did  I  love  Leonore  ?  I  pitied  her ;  I  sympa- 
thized with  her ;  I  admired  her  beauty ;  I  appre- 
ciated her  gracious  ways  ;  her  presence  was  always 
with  me ;  I  was  happier  with  her  than  with  any 
other  person.  I  left  her  with  sorrow  and  returned 
to  her  with  joy ;  in  a  word  I  labored  and  lived 
solely  for  Leonore  Sherman,  and  yet  I  did  not  love 
her.  If  called  upon  to  do  so,  I  would  have  given 
my  life  to  defend  her,  and  yet  we  were  only 
friends. 


||  ■ iilliinuiii  IMIiU'i'i  luiirriwi — ' 


«.!' 


148 


JEAN  GRANT. 


What  were  her  feelings  towards  me  ?  So  far  as 
I  could  judge,  much  the  same  as  mine  towards 
her.  Our  hearts  were  open  to  each  other. 
Between  us,  there  were  reverential  respect,  open- 
faced  candor,  implicit  confidence  and  sincere  friend- 
ship. We  understood  each  other,  which  may  mean 
either  more  or  less  than  loving  each  other.  We 
were  friends. 

But  all  these  feelings  were  spontaneous,  uncon- 
scious. We  did  not  measure  or  weigh  our  feelings. 
We  were  engrossed  in  an  all-absorbing  pursuit. 
We  did  not  stop  to  consider.  Doubtless,  we  grew 
towards  each  other,  but  we  knew  it  not. 

But  we  were  destined  to  undergo  an  ordeal 
which  should  put  to  the  test  our  affection  for  each 
other,  an  experience  more  painful  than  death, 
blacker  than  night,  terrible  as  hell. 


le?    So  far  as 
mine  towards 
each    other, 
respect,  open- 
sincere  friend- 
lich  may  mean 
:h  other.    We 

aneous,  uncon- 
rh  our  feelings, 
irbing  pursuit, 
btless,  we  grew 
lot. 

rgo  an  ordeal 
fection  for  each 
1    than    death, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

I  HAD  only  time  to  announce  my  clue  to  the 
chiefs  of  the  various  detective  agencies,  when  a  new 
series  of  events  transpired  which  expedited,  at  a 
painful  cost,  the  results  of  my  long  search. 

"  I  received  the  following  epistle  from  a  source 
whence  I  could  least  expect  it. 

"New  York, 

"  Sir  : — It  is  now  over  six  years  since  I  received 
while  at  Seaton,  a  letter  from  your  hand.  Various 
occurrences,  of  which  it  is  needless  that  I  should 
speak  here,  have  prevented  an  earlier  reply  from 
me.  I  cannot,  now,  however,  regret  my  delay, 
since  it  has  afforded  you  ample  time  to  repent  of 
your  folly,  and  to  learn  that  a  gentleman  should  not 
be  addressed  in  terms  of  menacing  and  puerile 
braggadocio.  The  consequences  of  that  ill-advised 
missive,  have,  no  doubt,  been  as  torturing  to  you, 
as  they  have  been  grateful  to  me. 

"  Wliy,  my  fond  sir,  has  the  celebration  of  your 
nuptials  been  so  grievously  long  deferred  ?  Has 
your  patience  not  become  exhausted?  Has  your 
hope  deferred  not  sickened  your  heart?  Have 
your  views  of  the  constancy  of  woman's  affec- 
tion, may  I  enquire,  not  undergone  a  radical 
change?    You  should   not  be  so  tardy.     Perhaps 


I|Q 


JEAN  GRANT. 


your  lady-love  may  renounce  you  ;  perhaps  she  may 
weary  of  waiting;  perliaps  some  fascinating  stranger 
may  deprive  you  of  her  affections.  I  would 
caution  you  to  hasten  your  steps. 

"  But  perhaps  I  am  doing  jour  designing  nature 
and  your  excellent  capacity  for  finessing  an  injus- 
tice. Probably  you  have  set  your  affections  on 
another  woman,  with  less  sincerity,  it  is  true,  but 
with  larger  hopts  of  pecuniary  advantage.  Indeed, 
I  know  tills  to  be  true.  For  some  time,  you  have 
been  playing  the  role  of  benefactor  with  admirable 
diplomacy  and  with  brilliant  effect.  And  now  that 
you  have  about  accomplished  your  purpose,  you 
will,  no  doubt,  slacken  the  ardor  with  which  you 
have  hitherto  prosecuted  your  detective  functions, 
and  announce  yourself  willing  to  accept,  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  head  of  an  executed  criminal,  the 
heart  of  an  unsuspecting  and  wealthy  woman. 
Your  course  has  been  long  and  crooked,  but  it  has 
brought  you  to  the  desired  goal. 

"  A  man  with  less  cunning,  but  with  more 
courage,  would  have  obtained  the  coveted  reward 
by  more  direct  means. 

"  Clumsiness,  in  your  case,  has  been  mistaken  for 
candor,  frankness  and  honesty;  and  so  it  has 
precipitated  the  end  which  it  should  have  frus- 
trated. 

"  The  prize  is  within  your  grasp,  but  you  shall 
never  touch  it.  The  crown  is  prepared  for  your 
brow,  but  you  shall  never  wear  it.  Like  Moses, 
(forgive  the  unrighteous  comparison)  you  have 
viewed  the  Promised  Land,  but  you  will  never 
enter  it.  Beware,  good  sir,  beware.  You  have  not 
been  alone  in  your  peregrinations ;  I  have  been 
with   you.     I  have  dogged  your  steps  for  the  last 


JEAN  GRANT. 


lit 


perhaps  she  may 
icinating  stranger 
:tions.     I    would 

designing  nature 
lessing  an  injus- 
ur  affections  on 
y,  it  is  true,  but 
antage.  Indeed, 
;  time,  you  have 
r  with  admirable 
And  now  that 
ur  purpose,  you 
with  which  you 
ective  functions, 
accept,  as  a  sub- 
ed  criminal,  the 
wealthy  woman, 
ooked,  but  it  has 

but  with    more 
coveted  reward 

:en  mistaken  for 

and    so   it    has 

ould    have    frus- 

p,  but  you  shall 
epared  for  your 
t.  Like  Moses, 
ison)  you  have 
you  will  never 
You  have  not 
3;  I  have  been 
teps  for  the  last 


two  years.  I  have  shadowed  you  everywhere  ;  and 
while  you  were  vainly  searching  for  me,  I  was  often 
by  your  side,  laughing  in  my  sleeve  at  your  un-  . 
couthness,  verdancy  and  self-deluding  smartness. 
You  are  a  brilliant  detective.  It  is  wonderful  that 
you  have  not  lost  yourself.  An  rcvoir,  my  faithful 
friend ;  leave  the  country  at  once,  or  decide  that 
your  fate  is  sealed.     Revenge  is  sweet,  beware. 

"  Yours  fraternally, 

"COLONEL  WINDSOR. 
"Arthur  Garland,  Esq. 
"  New  York." 

I  was  complejicly  stupefied  by  this  letter.  Who 
was  this  man  ?  What  was  he  ?  Man  or  devil  ? 
Where  did  he  reside?  Had  he  power  to  disembody 
and  etherealize  himself?  The  keenest  detectives  of 
a  whole  continent  at  work  for  several  years,  spurred 
on  by  the  largest  reward  ever  offered  for  the  detec- 
tion of  an  American  criminal,  and  the  wretch  living 
and  moving  in  their  midst  and  daring  even  to 
address  notes  of  defiance  and  ridicule  to  the  one  he 
had  wronged  most  cruelly!  And  my  life  threat- 
ened! Well,  let  it  go!  My  head  was  muddled 
and  my  every  sense  benumbed  by  the  perusal  of 
that  daring  letter.  By  the  same  post  I  received 
another  letter  from  Dr.  Parks  to  the  effect  that  he 
had  lost  his  clue,  and  that  Jean  was  most  likely  in 
New  York.  As  soon  as  he  could  verify  this  theory 
he  would  come  at  once. 

"There  is  no  doubt,"  he  added,  "that  Colonel 


m 


JEAN  GRANT. 


Windsor  is  kept  posted  as  to  our  doings.  Jean  has 
been  carried  away  from  London  just  as  I  hud  about 
reached  her." 

But  I  would  persevere.  There  was  a  possibility 
that  this  evil  genius  would  over-reach  himself  in  his 
fancied  security  and  intangibility. 

New  instructions  and  fac-similies  of  the  letter 
were  forwarded  without  delay  to  the  different 
detective  organizations. 

It  was  an  autograph  letter.  The  handwritting 
was  most  peculiar.  Evidently,  it  was  a  hand  that 
had  so  often  disguised  itself,  that  it  at  last  became 
unique  and  original,  and  might  afford  an  easy  means 
of  detection.  It  was  Windsor's  hand — I  had  seen 
it  in  several  threatening  letters  addressed  to  poor 
Wentworth  shortly  before  his  death ;  disguised 
as  it  was,  I  could  detect  the  same  hand  that  I  had 
seen  in  Principal  Weldon's  diary,  so  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  room  for  doubt  that  Colonel 
Windsor  and  Professor  Sydney  were  one  and  the 
same  person. 

I  had  a  vague  recollection  of  having  seen  it 
elsewhere,  in  some  library,  or  visitors'  book,  or 
hotel  register,  but  where  I  could  not  recall. 

Inside  of  a  week  from  the  time  I  had  received 
Colonel  Windsor's  threatening  letter,  another  appal- 
ling link  was  forged  in  the  long  chain  of  destruc- 
tion. 

Leonore  and  her  mother  had  come  to  the  city 


-*fci 


■ 


oings.  Jean  has 
3t  as  I  had  about 

was  a  possibility 
ch  himself  in  his 

;s  of  the  letter 
o   the     different 

he  handwritting 
\ras  a  hand  that 
it  at  last  became 
"d  an  easy  means 
ind — I  had  seen 
Idressed  to  poor 
death ;  disguised 
liand  that  I  had 
T,  so  that  there 
bt  that  Colonel 
ere  one  and  the 

having  seen  it 
isitors'  book,  or 
)t  recall. 

I  had  received 
:r,  another  appal- 
hain  of  destruc- 

ome  to  the  city 


JEAN  GRANT. 


»53 


in  the  morning.  When  they  reached  the  Grand 
Central  Depot,  Leonore  called  a  cab ;  she  entered 
it,  and  before  her  mother  had  time  to  follow  her, 
the  door  had  been  closed  and  the  cab  driven  off  at 
a  furious  rate.  A  sponge  saturated  with  chloroform 
was  held  to  her  mouth  and  she  soon  lay  senseless 
and  unresisting. 

Mrs.  Sherman  merely  smiled  at  the  cabman's 
hurry,  thinking  that  he  would  soon  be  made 
acquainted  with  his  blunder  and  return  for  his  other 
passenger.  She  waited  for  half  an  hour,  and  noth- 
ing further  was  heard.  Leonore  had  not  returned. 
Mrs.  Sherman  still  thought  it  nothing  more  than  a 
slight  inconvenience.  An  hour  passed.  Nothing 
had  been  heard.  She  spoke  to  the  policeman  who 
occasionally  passed  through  the  waiting-room.  He 
shook  his  head  ominously  and  added ;— "  Madam, 
it's  a  common  thing  this.  It's  becoming  a  very 
profitable  business.  It  looks  bad.  I'll  communi- 
cate  with  the   chief  and  see  what  we  can  do   for 

you." 

For  the  first  time,  a  suspicion  of  foul  play 
flashed  across  Mrs.  Sherman's  mind.  She  uttered 
a  low  moan  of  fear  and  grief  and  sank  insensible  at 
the  officer's  feet. 

As  soon  as  she  had  recovered,  she  was  driven  to 
my  hotel.  With  tears  and  sobs,  she  told  me  her 
story— a  hint  was  enough.  I  knew  it  all.  Leonore 
had   been    kidnapped.     She    would   be   murdered, 


154 


JEAN  GRANT. 


-,  t, 


i* 

*4' 


ifl 


or  meet  a  worse  fate  still,  and  be  tortured  to  dis- 
traction. 

Wiiat  could  I  do  ?  I  had  done  all  in  my  power  to 
uneaith  this  nuirderous  conspiracy.  In  vain.  I 
was  baffled,  foileil,  defeated.  The  next  act  in  the 
tragedy  woukl  be  my  murder.  1  knew  that.  What 
this  villain  threatened,  he  carried  out. 

I  opened  his  letter  and  read  : —  ' 

"The  prize  is  within  your  grasp,  but  you  shall 
never  touch  it.  The  crown  is  prepared  for  your 
brow,  but  you  shall  never  wear  it.  You  have  viewed 
the  Promised  Land,  but  you  will  never  enter  it." 

I  now  clearly  apprehended  the  dark  import  of  this 
metaphoric  statement.  That  part  had  been  fulfilled 
to  the  letter.     Further  on,  I  read: 

"  Beware,  good  sir,  beware.  You  liave  not  been 
alone  in  your  peregrinations.  I  have  been  with 
you.  I  have  dogged  your  steps  for  the  last  two 
years.  I  have  shadowed  you  everywhere,  and 
while  you  were  vainly  searching  for  me,  I  was  often 
by  your  side,  laughing  in  my  sleeve  at  your  un- 
couthness,  verdancy  and  self-deluding  smartness. 
Leave  the  country  at  once,  or  decide  that  your  fate 
is  sealed.     Revenge  is  sweet.     Beware." 

This  part  was  jet  to  be  fulfilled.  Doubtless  it 
would  soon  be  attempted.  I  was  infuriated.  I 
rushed  out  of  my  hotel  cursing  myself  and  the 
detectives,  and  vowing  condign  punishment  upon 
the  head  of  Colonel  Windsor,     I  armed  myself  with 


!TLi.m_i|.'  mrf^K. 


JEAN  GKANT. 


155 


e  tortured  to  dis- 

,11  in  my  power  to 
icy.  In  vain.  I 
L'  next  act  in  the 
uicw  tiiat.     What 

3Ut. 

sp,  but  you  shall 
re  pa  red    for   your 

You  liave  viewed 
lever  enter  it." 
lark  import  of  this 

had  been  fulfilled 

lu  have  not  been 
have  been  with 
for  the  last  two 
everywhere,  and 
ir  me,  I  was  often 
eeve  at  your  un- 
luding  smartness, 
de  that  your  fate 

ft 

vare. 

?d.  Doubtless  it 
as  infuriated.  I 
myself  and  the 
punishment  upon 
rmed  myself  with 


revolvers  and  a  short  s;ibre  which  I  concealed  at 
convenient  reach  under  my  coat.  I  trebled  the 
reward.  Once  more,  the  whole  American  press 
blazoned  forth  the  history  of  this  unfortunate  fam- 
ily. My  name  llgured  prominently  in  all  the  re- 
ports. Among  all  the  theories  propounded,  the 
most  explicable  was  that  1  was  at  the  bottom  of 
the  whole  business.  I  was  arrested,  tried  and  ac- 
quitted. This  increased  my  mortification  and  nin- 
imizcd   my   usefulness   in    fathoming   the   con-.,)ir- 

acy. 

I  need  not  say  that  Mrs.  Sherman,  broken-hearted 
and  despairing  as  she  was,  never  wavered  fu.  a 
moment  in  her  friendship  for  me  or  lost  her  faith  in 
my  honor.  She  was  now  more  than  ever  to  me, 
and  I  to  her.  Could  I  have  brought  back  to  her 
side  her  two  beautiful  daughters,  I  would  willingly 
have  laid  down  my  own  life. 

Six  months  had  elapsed  since  Leonore  had  disap- 
peared, and  no  tidings  had  been  heard.  The  detec- 
tives had  abandoned  the  fruitless  search  in  disgust, 
and  contented  themselves  by  saying  that  there 
existed  a  huge  ring  or  cabal  of  criminals  in  New 
York  who  so  helped  and  shielded  each  other  that 
detection  was  impossible. 

I  called  on  Mrs.  Wood,  thinking  there  was  a 
slight  possibility  of  her  having  obtained  some  infor- 
mation for  me.  She  had  not.  As  I  bade  her  good- 
bye she  handed  me  an  old  letter  which   !    1;  d   by 


■  ■v,m&ti9itii'mvnm^^f^'e»h  ■ 


156 


JEAN  GRANT. 


ft, 
i' 


If 


oversight  left  in  the  room  I  had  occupied  in  her 
house. 

I  turned  to  go.  "  Mr.  Garland,"  said  the  good 
lady,  "  just  look  into  that  letter — just  look  well  at 
it !  It  looks  like  Professor  Sydney's  hand,  very  like 
it — it  does:  I  did'nt  like  to  look  into  it — I  did'nt. 
But  says  I  to  myself,  that's  his  hand,  if  he's  livin' — 
that  is.  He  alius  did  write  a  spidery  hand,  he  did. 
It's  like  himself,  it  is,  crooked  and  disguised  like — 
very  like  himself.  Wherever  that  letter  came  from 
— he'i.  there — he  is." 

J.  glanced  at  the  envelope.  A  peculiar  hand ! 
Some  letters  crowded  together ;  others  far  apart ; 
some  largo  and  well-formed  ;  others  scrawled  and 
diminutive  !  Colonel  Windsor's  hand  !  Ah  God  ! 
What  does  it  mean  ?  Quick  as  thought,  I  drew  the 
letter  from  the  envelope.  It  was  dated  at  the  police 
headquarters,  New  York,  a  year  and  a  half  back, 
and  was  signed  "  Colonel  John  Abbott,  Detective." 
I  crushed  it  into  my  pocket  and  hastened  to  my 
room.  Once  there,  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  in  a 
spirit  of  fervent,  devotion  supplicated  the  God 
whose  attributes  are  "  merciful  and  just,"  that  in 
His  mercy  He  would  have  compassion  on  Mrs. 
Sherman  and  her  daughters,  if  they  yet  lived,  and 
in  His  justice  bring  the  wrong-doers  to  punishment. 
I  arose,  locked  the  door,  spread  the  letter  on  my 
study-table  and  pondered  over  its  contents. 

It  briefly  stated  that  its  author  had  energetically 


occupied  in  her 

i,"  said  the  good 
-just  look  well  at 
y's  hand,  very  like 
into  it — I  did'nt. 
md,  if  he's  livin' — 
dery  hand,  he  did. 
1  disguised  like — 
:  letter  came  from 

\.  peculiar  hand  ! 

others  far  apart ; 

hers  scrawled  and 

hand!     Ah  God! 

lought,  I  drew  the 

dated  at  the  police 

and  a  half  back, 
Lbbott,  Detective." 
id  hastened  to  my 
y  knees  and  in  a 
•plicated  the  God 
and  just,"  that  in 
T) passion  on  Mrs. 
ley  yet  lived,  and 
ers  to  punishment, 
the  letter  on  my 
3  contents. 
■  had  energetically 


/EAJV^  GRANT. 


157 


pursued  a  certain  line  of  action  which  he  hoped 
would  soon  bring  the  perpetrators  of  the  crime  to 
justice.  It  requested  a  remittance  of  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  to  defray  the  extraordinary  expe:\ses 
the  writer  had  incurred,  in  the  anxious  discharf^e  of 
this  important  duty,  and  concluded  by  expressing 
the  certain  hope  that  before  many  days  I  should 
have  the  satisfaction  of  having  the  murderer  of 
Wentworth  suffer  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law. 
I  had  remitted  the  money,  but  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment  the  character  of  the  writing  had  es- 
caped my  observation. 

I  drew  Colonel  Windsor's  letter  from  my  pocket 
and  placed  the  two  side  by  side  on  the  table.  It 
was  obvious  that  both  had  been  written  in  a  feigned 
hand,  but  the  most  vicarious  character  will  repeat 
itself.  The  similarity  was  convincing.  There  was 
no  doubt  the  same  hand  had  penned  both. 

"At  last!  At  last!  I  have  a  clue!  Colonel 
Windsor,  my  dexterous  villain,  you  have  proved 
too  clever  for  your  own  good,  you  have  over- 
reached yourself,"  I  shouted  aloud  almost  crazed 
with  delight. 


■1 


) 


if: 


CHAPTER  XVII.  ' 

I  DIRECTED  my  Steps  to  the  police  headquarters 
where  I  found  Chief  Symonds  in  his  ofifice.  I  was 
well  acquainted  with  the  chief,  my  unenviable  vo- 
cation having  frequently  brought  me  into  contact 
with  him. 

"Good  morning,  good  morning,  Mr.  Garland.  I 
hope  you  are  well,"  he  said  as  I  entered  his  office. 

"Good  morning,  Chief,"  I  replied,  endeavoring 
to  conceal  the  tremor  in  my  voice. 

"  Found  your  man  yet?"  he  asked. 

"  No ;  but  I  believe  I  have  found  his  trail,"  I 
answered. 

"  Ah,  indeed  ;  glad  to  hear  it ;  very  glad  to  hear 
it,  Mr.  Garland.  I  hope  you  may  catch  the  scoun- 
drel. There  must  be  a  nest  of  them.  One  out,  all 
out,  will  be  our  game.  If  we  get  our  hands  on  one, 
if  we  can  only  catch  one  of  them,  it  will  be  a  dark 
day  for  the  lot.  How  about  the  reward?  Who 
gets  that?  A  gold  mine  for  some  lucky  devil; 
wish  I  were  he,"  he  continued,  trying  to  draw  me 

out. 

Whether  rightly  or  wrongly  I  had  been  losing 
faith    in   the  whole  police  system.     I  reached  the 


JEAN  GRANT. 


159 


ce  headquarters 

is  office.     I  was 

unenviable  vo- 

ne  into  contact 

VI  r.  Garland.     I 
2red  his  office, 
ed,  endeavoring 

i. 

nd  his  trail,"  I 

;ry  glad  to  hear 
:atch  the  scoun- 
11.  One  out,  all 
ur  hands  on  one, 
it  will  be  a  dark 
reward?  Who 
le  lucky  devil; 
ing  to  draw  me 

lad  been  losing 
I  reached  the 


climax  of  distrust  and  suspicion  when  I  found  that 
its  ranks  might  often  afford  refuge  to  the  basest 
outlaws,  and  the  eyes  of  justice  might  in  this  way 
be  turned  aside.  I  had  not  gone  tliere  to  make  a 
confession.  I  was  not  to  be  drawn  out.  I  had 
learned  sometliing  of  human  nature  in  the  last  few 
years.  Somehow,  I  could  not  resist  the  feeling 
that  if  I  should  convey  my  clue  to  the  chief  or  to 
any  member  of  his  force,  its  whole  influence  would 
be  turned  against  me,  and  its  guilty  member 
spirited  away  beyond  detection. 

"  Pardon  me,  Chief,  I  have  not  quite  completed 
my  clue  yet ;  it  is,  I  may  say,  of  so  very  slight  a 
nature  that  unless  I  can  fortify  it  by  certain  facts, 
it  will  be  useless.  Later  on,  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
confer  with  you  as  to  wliat  course  I  had  better 
adopt,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  you  know  a  member  of  your  detective  force 
whose  name  is  Colonel  John  Abbott?"  I  enquired, 
"Colonel  John  Abbott?  Well,  I  should  say  I  do. 
I  count  Colonel  Abbott  the  cleverest  detective  in 
America.  He  has  unearthed  thousands  of  crimes 
and  mysteries.  He  is  known  from  the  Atlantic  to 
the  Pacific.  He  never  loses  a  trail.  He  will  stick 
to  it  for  years  with  the  tenacity  and  perseverance 
of  a  sleuth-hound  till  he  tracks  the  culprit  to  his 
den.  His  only  failure  which  I  can  recollect  is  the 
Wentworth  case.  That  has  defied  us  all.  George 
Wentworth's  murderer  will,  I  believe,  never  be  de- 


i6o 


JEAN  GRANT. 


t 


1 

in 


tected,  .  In  all  likelihood  he  is  dead  by  this  time. 
But  till  Abbott  abandons  the  case,  I  will  not  en- 
tirely lose  hope.  In  extreme  cases,  he  often  lies 
low  for  years,  and  just  when  the  delinquent  thinks 
all  has  blown  over  and  ventures  out  from  his  seclu- 
sion, he  finds  himself  handcuffed  and  arraigned  for 

trial." 

"Can  you  oblige  me  with  his  address?"  I  asked. 
"I  wish  to  call  on  him  in  reference  to  this  very 
case." 

*'  I  cannot.  Detectives  have  no  address ;  no 
complexion;  no  clothes;  no  appearance;  and  no 
character.  Detectives  are  the  star  actors  of  the 
age.  They  play  a  different  role  every  day.  They 
assume  all  characters ;  wear  all  kinds  of  clothes  ; 
chum  with  all  kinds  of  men.  They  have  no  iden- 
tity. They  are  the  shadows  of  other  men.  They 
are  everybody,  everywhere,  and  everything.  I  can- 
not give  you  his  address.  Besides,  Mr.  Garland, 
besides,  he  is  not  on  the  force  now.  He  resigned 
some  three  months  ago.  He  was  offered  a  large  in- 
crease in  his  salary  which  he  would  not  accept." 

I  felt  a  chill  creep  through  my  veins  at  this  intel- 
ligence. Had  this  prodigy  of  deceit  and  crime 
again  evaded  mc?  Had  he  felt  the  chains  of  jus- 
tice tightening  about  him  and  made  good  his 
escape? 

I  kept  as  steady  as  I  could  and  went  on.  "  Indeed, 
I  regret  to  hear  that.     Abbott  is  an  old  acquaint- 


JEAN  GRANT. 


l6l 


i  by  this  time. 

I  will  not  en- 
i,  he  often  lies 
inquent  thinks 

from  his  seclu- 
d  arraigned  for 

ress  ?  "  I  asked. 
:e  to   this  very 

D  address ;  no 
nance;  and  no 
r  actors  of  the 
vcy  day.  They 
ids  of  clothes  ; 
^  have  no  iden- 
icr  men.  They 
■ything.  I  can- 
s,  Mr.  Garland, 
He  resigned 
^ered  a  large  in- 
not  accept." 
ins  at  this  intel- 
:ceit  and  crime 
;  chains  of  jus- 
made    good    his 

it  on.     "  Indeed, 
an  old  acquaint- 


\ 


ance  of  mine.     He  has  worked  very  zealously  in 
this  VVentworth  affair.     I  should  like  to  see  him." 

"  An  acquaintance,  is  he?  " 

"Yes;  at  least,  I  think  so.  I  think  he  is  the 
man  whom  I  knew  some  years  ago.  Is  he  a  tall, 
ponderous  man  ?  " 

"Yes;  that  he  is,  very  tall." 

'*  Compactly  and  proportionately  built  ?  " 

"  The  same  ;  the  very  same." 

"  With  striking  features?  " 

"  Very  striking  ;     Very  large,  prominent  features. 

"  Sallow  complexion  ?  " 

'*  The  same." 

"  Large  black  eyes?" 

"  Yes ;  the  same  ;  a  terrible  pair  of  eyes,  that 
would  look  clear  through  a  man." 

"  Long  black  mustache,  black  hair,  heavy  black 
eyebrows  ?  " 

"  The  same,  the  very  same.  Altogether  a  remark- 
able make  up.  He  is  the  same.  An  acquaintance 
of  yours,  Mr.  Garland?  He  is  well  worth  knowing, 
the  same  Abbott,  and  once  known  he  is  never  for- 
gotten. He  is  the  cleverest  fellow  I  ever  knew. 
He  could  accomplish  anything.  The  finest  address, 
most  polished  manners,  best  reader  of  character,  of 
any  man  of  my  acquaintance.  He  could  walk  with 
the  majesty  of  a  king,  or  creep  along  the  street  like 
a  hopelessly  deformed  cripple,  till  he  extracted  tears 
from  the  passers-by.  He  would  write  me  from  San 
II 


1 62 


JEAN  GRANT. 


i' 

i  U 

,  I" 

r 

■f  ■ 

i 

"it" 
:l! 
^1 
■:li, 

'  i 
"1; 

It 

Hi 

;  t 

il 


ii 


Francisco  and  be  in  New  York  before  his  letter  was 
posted.  Dozens  of  times,  he  has  accosted  me  on 
tlie  street  without  my  recognizing  him,  and 
afterwards  told  me  about  it.  An  actor,  a  magician, 
a  ventriloquist,  a  soothsayer,  a  clairvoyant,  a  mesmer- 
ist ;  men  were  matter  in  his  hands.  He  has  played 
practical  jokes  on  the  cleverest  detectives,  such 
as  picking  their  pockets,  dressing  them  in  other 
men's  clolhcs,  and  all  such  tricks ;  and  when  they 
were  at  their  wit's  end,  he  would  come  to  their 
rescue  and  laugh  at  their  simplicity." 

"That's  the  man.  He  was  always  fond  of  play- 
ing such  pranks.     Has  he  left  the  city  ?  " 

"Yes;  yoa  will  not  likely  see  him  for  two  or 
three  years,  if  then.  He  has  gone  to  the  Arctic- 
Seas.  Gone  to  discover  the  North  Pole.  If  he 
does  not  discover  it,  then  there  is  no  North  Pole — 
that's  all.     What  he  can't  do,  can't  be  done." 

"  But  there's  no  telling  what  he's  up  to.  My  own 
opinion  is  that  he  is  shadowing  the  murderer  of 
George  Wentworth.     He's  after  some  big  game !  " 

My  heart  sank.  My  hopes  were  dashed  to  earth. 
Two  years!  Two  years  or  more  of  this  killing 
suspense  for  me  !  Two  years  or  longer  for  poor 
Mrs.  Sherman  to  endure  the  awful  torture.  Two 
years  or  longer  for  the  blood  of  George  Went- 
worth, of  Leonore  Sherman,  perhaps  of  Jean  Grant, 
to  cry  to  heaven  in  vain  for  vengeance.  Two  years 
longer  for  this  incarnate  fiend  to  ply  his  nefarious 


JEAN  GRANT. 


163 


his  letter  was 
costed  me  on 
ng  him,  and 
ar,  a  magician, 
ant,  a  mesmer- 
He  has  played 
itectives,  such 
them  in  other 
nd  when  they 
come  to  their 

5  fond  of  play- 

m    for  two   or 
to  the  Arctic 
I    Pole.     If   he 
)  North  Pole— 
e  done." 
p  to.     My  own 
le  murderer  of 
e  big  game  !  " 
ashed  to  earth, 
of   this  killing 
onger  for  poor 
torture.     Two 
George  Went- 
of  Jean  Grant, 
;e.     Two  years 
ly  his  nefarious 


arts  upon  the  unsuspecting  sons  of  Adam.     Every 
doubt   of  his  identity  was    now  removed.     Colonel 
Windsor,   Professor   Sydney   and    Detective     John 
Abbott  were  one  and  the  same  person.     He  must 
have     become   aware   that   his    identity  was     sus- 
pected.    He  must  have  felt  that  the  hand  of  justice 
could  not  much   longer  be   averted.     Cunning  vil- 
lain!    He  had   gone  beyond  recall.     He  had  gone 
to  the  region  where  no  country  holds  sway  ;  where 
no  sceptre  is  regnant;  where  no  laws  exist;  where 
no  courts  have  .jurisdiction ;  where  crimes  are  for- 
gotten and  injuries  forgiven  in  the  fierce  struggle 
for  life  against  the  rigors  of  a  hyperborean  climate. 
Would  he   ever  return?     If  so,  possibly  he  would 
come  back  laden  with  the  spoils  of  victory  snatched 
from  Polar  hardships,  and,  like  Alcibiades  of  old, 
tearfully  implore  his  fellow-countrymen  for  forgive- 
ness.    If   he   never   returned  what   then?     Should 
my  own  wrongs,  the  taking  ofT  of  my  noble  friend 
and  the  ruin  of  the  home,  the  hopes  and  the  happi- 
ness of   Mrs.  Sherman   and  her  daughters   remain 
forever   unavenged?     Should  a  day  of   retribution 
never  come  ?     Should  the  seal  of  mysterious  silence 
never   be.  broken  ?     The   very   thought   drove   me 
almost  to  madness. 


U: 


'.4 
If 
1 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

An  examination  of  the  registered  list  of  those 
who  had  joined  the  exploring  expedition  satisfied 
me  that  Colonel  Windsor,  under  the  name  of  John 
Abbott,  had  accepted  an  officer's  commission  in  the 
party,  and  was  now  some  distance  in  the  Northern 
latitudes. 

It  was  a  time  of  bitter  and  memorable  experiences 
for  me.  Like  a  pendulum,  my  feelings  were  alter- 
nately swinging  through  every  phase  of  mortal  joy 
and  pain  which  compass  the  awful  chasm  between 
hope  and  despondency. 

I  turned  from  the  naval  ofifice  sick  at  heart.  An 
indescribable  numbness  seized  my  spirit  and  para- 
lyzed my  body.  In  a  state  of  semi-consciousness, 
I  staggered  to  the  nearest  police  officer  and  asked 
him  to  send  me  to  my  hotel.  I  have  a  dim,  dream- 
like remembrance  of  having  been  placed  in  a  vehi- 
cle and  of  having  been  assisted  to  my  rooms.  A 
potion  of  strong  spirits  rallied  me  a  little,  and  I 
vaguely  realized  my  unfortunate  dilemma. 

All  was  lost !  I  was  pursuing  a  shadow,  and  when 
I  thought  to  grasp  it,  it  eluded  me  and  was  gone. 
An  hour  ago,  I  had  told  myself  that  my  long,  per- 


rJ*8*Sri^f5^^«»* 


JEAN  GRANT. 


165 


1  list  of  those 
lition  satisfied 
name  of  John 
mission  in  the 
the  Northern 

lie  experiences 
igs  were  alter- 
of  mortal  joy 
hasm  between 

at  heart.  An 
pirit  and  para- 
consciousness, 
icer  and  asked 
a  dim,  dream - 
aced  in  a  vehi- 
ny  rooms.  A 
L  little,  and  I 
nma. 

dow,  and  when 

and  was  gone. 

t  my  long,  per- 


severing  labors   were    about   to   be   crowned    with 
success.     Now,  apparently,  I  was  further  than  ever 
from    success.      All    was    lost.      My   ambition    was 
wrecked  ;  my  hopes  dashed  to  earth  ;  disaster,  defeat 
and   confusion  were  the  only  fruits  which  my  life 
had  yielded  ;  for  these  I  cared  not.     The  ardent  love 
and  affection  of  my  youth  had  died  long  ago  ;    1 
mourned  not  for  that.     I  thought  not  of  myself.     1 
was  a  man  with  a  mission— a  mission  so  great  and 
absorbing  that  my  feelings,  my  aims,  my  hopes,  my 
ambition  and  my  identity  had  become  merged  in  it. 
In  all  verity,  1  was  not  concerned  about  myself  or 
my  feelings ;  painfully,  and  with  inexpressible  sad- 
ness, my  tormented  mind  reverted  to  Seaton— to 

Dimmore.. 

Where    was   my   once    much    loved    Jean   who 
had   planted    in   my   bosom    love's   blessed  flower, 
only  to  be  plucked  therefrom  by  a  cruel  hand  before 
its  blossom  had  matured  to  fruition ;  whose  worst 
sin  was  a  too  confiding  and  credulous  heart,  a  dis- 
position  to  surrender  to  present  exigencies,  and  a 
desire  to  please  everybody,  which  prompted  her,  or, 
rather,    coerced    her   to   prefer   the    near   and    the 
present   to   the    distant    and   the   absent?     Gone! 
ruined  !  lost !  dead  !     Begging  on  the  streets,  or  in 
the  mad-house !     Long  ago  had  I  forgiven  her  for 
the  wrong  she  had  done  me.     Where  was  George 
Wentworth,   my  friend,  my  brother,  as  true  a  man 
as  God   ever   made?  above   reproach;   gentle,   yet 


i66 


JEAN  GRANT. 


ii. 

1-- 


strong;  firm,  yet  generous:  warm-hearted,  open- 
handed  ;  talented  above  most  men,  and  destined  for 
a  glorious  career;  noble;  dead!  murdered!  His 
blood  was  still  unavenged.  His  murderer  still  at 
large,  untracked,  unwliipped  of  justice.  Where  was 
she  on  whom  these  blows  fell  with  direst  severity — 
Mrs.  Sherman?  At  Dunmore  ;  the  solitary  occupant 
of  her  lonely  palace ;  widowed;  childless;  nursing 
through  dreary  days  and  sleepless,  frightsome 
nights,  the  burden  of  a  mysterious  sorrow,  too  heavy 
for  human  heart  long  to  endure  ;  robbed  of  all  save 
her  hope  of  heaven  ;  each  day  deepening  and  multi- 
plying the  deep  lines  of  anguish  on  her  beautiful 
face,  and  weaving  about  her  high,  placid  brow,  a 
crown  of  more  snowy  whiteness.  To  me,  to  me 
alone  could  she  now  look  for  the  offices  of  a  son. 
And  I,  baffled,  dismayed,  stupefied,  not  more  by 
the  prolonged  ardor  of  my  task,  than  by  its  futility, 
its  hopelessness,  its  barrenness. 

Where  was  Leonore?  Lost!  ruined!  At  that 
thought,  my  blood  rising  to  the  height  of  uncon- 
querable passion,  surged  madly  through  my  veins. 
I  clutched  my  brows  in  despair;  I  rushed  madly 
from  side  to  side  of  my  room.  "  Oh,  Leonore  ! 
Leonore!"  I  exclaimed,  while  the  pc-.spiration 
oozed  in  large  beads  from  my  brow,  "  come  back  to 
me,  come  back,  come  back  !  I  love  you  !  I  love  you  ! 
Never  till  .low  did  I  know  it.  Now,  now,  1  know 
that   I  love  you  !     Come  back !  you  are  not  lost ! 


/ 


JEAN  GRANT. 


i«; 


-hearted,  open- 
md  destined  for 
lurdcred  !  His 
lurdcrer  still  at 
ce.  Where  was 
lircst  severity — 
alitary  occupant 
ildless;  nursing' 
ess,  frightsome 
)rrow,  too  heavy 
bbcd  of  all  save 
Miing  and  multi- 
m  her  beautiful 
,  placid  brow,  a 
To  me,  to  me 
offices  of  a  son. 
d,  not  more  by 
n  by  its  futility, 

lined!  At  that 
icight  of  uncon- 
ough  my  veins. 
I  rushed  madly 
"  Oh,  Leonore  ! 
he  perspiration 
,  "  come  back  to 
on  !  I  love  you  ! 
)w,  now,  I  know 
)u  are  not  lost! 


You    are    not    dead!      It    cannot    be,    it    cannot 

be." 

I  fell  prostrate.  The  servants  of  the  hotel  heard 
my  frantic  cries  and  alarmed  the  house.  My  door 
was  forced.  1  lay  there  more  dead  than  alive.  It 
was  like  a  long  agonizing  dream  of  hell.  Dark 
spirits  haunted  the  air  about  me ;  I  seemed  to  have 
entered  a  new  world  inhabited  by  ghouls  and  mon. 
sters  who  snarled  and  jeered  at  my  wounded  spirit. 
But  at  last,  it  seemed,  the  beautiful  Beatrice  of  my 
Inferno,  Leonore,  approached  me  and  placed  a  sooth- 
ing  hand  on  i  \v  brow  and  1  slept. 

I  rose  more  calm.  I  determined  to  control  my 
feelings.  I  called  a  hack  and  drove  for  hours 
through  Central  Park.     In  the  evening  I  was  more 

composed. 

What  should  be  my  next  step  ?     What  should  I 
do  ?     Arctic  e.xplorations,  all  at  once,  interested  me. 
Eagerly  I  studied  the    history  of    that    suojcct.     I 
would  fit  out  an  expedition  of  my  own.     I  set  about 
this.     I    found   plenty  of   daring   men   who  would 
undertake   the   perils   of   the    frozen    North.      But 
money,  money  was  the   drawback.     I    interviewed 
members  of  the  Government  and  endeavored  to  en- 
list their  sympathy  in  the  scheme.     I  was  informed 
that  the  Government  contemplated  a  second  expedi- 
tion which  should  leave  New  York  one  year  after 
the  departure  of  the  first,  with  a  fresh  supply  of 
provisions. 


1 68 


JEAN  GKANT. 


.  (1 


I  at  once  sought  out  Captain  Dalton,  who  was  to 
have  the  command,  and  otfeied  to  join  his  party,  an 
offer  whicli  was  readily  .iccepted. 

Dr.  Parks  had  written  me  that  he  had  ascertained 
beyond  douijL  that  Jean  was  in  New  York,  and  that 
he  meant  to  reach  America  as  soon  as  he  could  ar- 
ranj^e  plans.  I  had  written  to  him  from  time  ti' 
time  keeping  him  advised  of  all  that  happened.  1 
now  wrote  to  him  asking  him  to  join  the  "Search  " 
expedition.  He  wired  an  affirmative  answer.  1 
succeeded  in  getting  him  the  post  of  assistant  sur- 
geon.    He  arrived  in  March,  and  was  duly  enrolled. 

I  spent  what  appeared  an  endless  winter  be- 
tween New  York  and  Seaton,  and  during  the  fol- 
lowing spring,  our  expedition  left  New  York. 

Our  boat,  the  "Search,"  schooner-rigged  and 
specially  adapted  for  her  perilous  work,  was  the 
strongest  ever  built.  Six  and  a  half  inches  of  solid 
oak  planking  upon  her  sides ;  her  bow  almost  a 
solid  mass  of  timber,  heavily  coated  with  iron, 
ending  in  a  sharp  iron  prow;  )ier  screw  capable  of 
being  quickly  unshipped  and  placed  on  deck  out  of 
danger  of  the  ice  ;  supplied  with  extra  blades, 
rudder,  spars  and  sails,  and  a  splendid  equipment 
of  boats.  The  boats  were  marvels ;  some  of  them 
would  carry  between  four  and  five  tons,  weighed 
only  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  could  be  folded 
up  in  a  minute's  notice  and  conveyed  on  a  sledge  to 
meet  the  emergency  of  portaging.  _    - 


JEAN  GRANT. 


169 


an,  who  was  to 
11  his  party,  an 

Kid  ascertained 
York,  and  that 
as  he  could  ar- 
1  from  time  to 
t  happened.     I 
1  the  "  Seareh  " 
ivc    answer.      1 
jf  assistant  sur- 
s  duly  enrolled. 
.'ss    winter   be- 
during  the  fol- 
cw  York, 
ner-riggcd    and 
work,   was  the 
inches  of  solid 
bow   almost   a 
ted     with    iron, 
:rcw   capable  of 
on  deck  out  of 
I    extra   blades, 
)did   equipment 
some  of  them 
e  tons,  weighed 
could  be  folded 
d  on  a  sledge  to 


Thousands   stood  on  the  shore  to   bid   us  God- 
speed, as  we  left  port.     Bands    played  ;  salutes  of 
ordnance  were  given,  and  a  sea  of  waving  handker- 
chiefs   rose    above     the    thronging    scene,    as   the 
"  Search,"  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  flying  cheerily 
from  her  mast-head,  breasted  the  blue  billows  of 
the  Atlantic,  and  steered  her  course  for  the  North. 
Although   my   hopes   were   somewhat    raised,    I 
could  not  resist  a  feeling  of  sadness  and  depression 
at  the  commencement  of  the  long,  perilous  voyage. 
An  undefined  apprehension,  such  as  1   had  never 
experienced    before,   seemed     brooding    over    my 
spirits.     Indeed  my  long-taxed  diligence  had  begun 
to    tell    heavily    upon    my   health.     Never    again 
should  I  feel  that  buoyancy  and  vigor  that  used  to 
support  me  in  the  most  hazardous  situations;  in 
their   stead,  came   a   shrinking   from  encounter,  a 
worse   than   superstitious  dread   of    the    future,  a 
timidity  and  solitariness  which  led  me  to  exchange 
seclusion  and  retirement  for  the  pleasures  of  society. 
I  had   scarcely  reached    my  thirtieth   year,  yet    I 
became  sensitively  conscious  of   the  fact,  that  my 
hair  was  quite   gray;  that    my    face    looked   old 
enough  for  fifty;  that  my  step  was  feeble  and  uncer- 
tain,  that  my  constitution  was  prematurely  wrecked. 
It  appeared  to  me  now  that  I  was  about  to  consum- 
mate  the  melancholy  tragedy,  in  which  I  had  been 
a  leading  actor  for  so  many  years,  by  the  sacrifice 
of  my  life. 


170 


JEAN  GRANT. 


T 


I 


i 


What  hope  lay  before  us?  Little,  if  any.  Hun- 
dreds of  the  bravest  and  best  navigators  and  ex- 
plorers had  preceded  us  into  that  inhospitable 
region,  with  no  otlier  result  than  to  leave  their 
starved  and  frozen  bodies  on  its  bleak,  barren  ice- 
fields. If  the  strongest  and  most  skilled  veterans 
fared  thus,  what  hope  for  me?  But  then  it  mat- 
tered not. 

But  the  stout  heart  of  Dr.  Parks,  and  his  care- 
fully stored  medicine  chest  kept  up  my  health  and 
spirits. 

I  still  kept  my  mission  secret.  What  was  my 
mission?  To  bring  Colonel  Windsor  to  justice? 
No  ;  I  had  no  longer  much  hope  of  that.  He  was 
beyond  the  region  of  law  and  legislators.  The 
chances  were  one  hundred  to  one  that  he  would 
nev.er  return.  My  one  desire  and  hope  was  to  set 
my  eyes  upon  him ;  not  for  vengeance,  not  for 
punishment ;  but  that  I  might  learn  from  his  false 
traitorous  lips  the  fate  of  Jean  Grant  and  Leonora 
Sherman.  If  I  could  only  find  them,  I  would  be 
satisfied.  If  I  found  him  dead,  I  would  rifle  his 
pockets  and  preserve  every  vestige  of  his  garments, 
that  I  might,  by  some  happy  accident,  be  led 
thereby  to  the  coveted  information.  If  I  found 
him  living,  I  should  spring  upon  him  with  the  fury 
of  a  wild  beast  and  wring  from  his  wretched  heart  a 
dying  confession  of  his  horrid  crimes. 

When  the  "  Search "  reached   St.  John's,  New- 


V 


*»**V>i«»i«4r^-' 


:le,  if  any.  Hun- 
ivigators  and  ex- 
that  inhospitable 
n  to  leave  their 
aleak,  barren  ice- 
:  skilled  veterans 
But  then  it  mat- 

rks,  and  his  care- 
ip  my  health  and 

What  was  my 
idsor  to  justice? 
of  that.     He  was 

legislators.  The 
e  that  he  would 
I  hope  was  to  set 
ngeance,  not  for 
;irn  from  his  false 
rant  and  Leonore 
them,  I  would  be 
I  would  rifle  his 
;  of  his  garments, 

accident,   be   led 

ion.     If    I   found 

lim  with  the  fury 

i  wretched  heart  a 

jes. 

St.  John's,  New- 


JEAN  CixAiXT. 


171 


foundland,  we  were  cordially  saluted  by  the  Cover- 
nor  and  citizens.  Thence,  with  our  prow  pointing 
straight  to  the  north  we  entered  Divis  Straits 
and  on  July  31,  reached  the  coast  of  Greenland. 
Continuing  our  cou'se,  we  found  Baffin's  Bay  freer 
from  ice  than  it  had  been  for  years. 

Difficulties  might  now  be  expected.  We  were 
replenished  with  additional  stores  and  supplies, 
donned  our  heavy  furs  and  purchased  a  number  of 
sledge  dogs. 

Slowly  the  "  Search  "  threaded  her  way  north- 
ward among  the  numerous  ice-floes  drifting  south- 
ward in  the  Arctic  current.  We  touched  at 
Upernavik  and  on  the  23d  of  August  reached 
Tessuisac,  in  latitude  73°  30',  the  uninviting  capital 
of  the  most  northerly  settleiuent  in  the  world. 

So  far,  our  inquiries  for  Captain  Fenlon's  expedi- 
tion of  the  previou-  year,  had  been  fruitless  ;  no  ti- 
dings had  been  heard.  Northwird,  still  northward, 
we  kept  our  course,  each  day  -.ontending  with  new 
dangers.  Our  progress  became  slower,  and  still  no 
tidings  of  the  missing  crew.  All  we  could  learn 
from  the  Innuits  was  that  the  expedition  had  gone 
still  further  North.  November  passed.  The  cold 
became  intolerable.  The  winter,  with  its  two 
months  of  unbroken  night,  was  approaching.  At 
last,  our  way  was  completely  bi  ked.  We  fast- 
ened our  hawsers  to  the  ice-bound  coast,  waiting 
and  hoping  that  the  huge  ice-fields  which  impeded 


f 


tf2 


JEAN  GRANT. 


I 


i 


if 


our  further  progress,  would  move  southward. 
Winter  came  on.  For  weeks,  the  sun  swept  around 
the  bleak  horizon,  till  at  last  his  upper  disk  alone 
was  ViSible  all  day  long. 

At  last  the  ice  drifted  aside,  and  we  were  enabled 
to  continue  our  course.  When  we  reached  latitude 
82°  16',  we  espied  the  wreck  of  a  vessel  crushed 
between  two  huge  ice-packs.  Half  a  dozen  of  us 
launched  a  boat  and  inspected  the  wreck.  It  was 
the  "  Northern  Eagle,"  Captain  Fenlon's  boat. 

Next  day,  Assistant-Surgeon  Parks,  whose  ex- 
tended travels  rendered  him  an  invaluable  acquisi- 
tion to  our  party,  discovered,  by  the  use  of  his 
powerful  glass,  a  man  standing  on  a  lofty  ice-pack 
some  miles  to  the  north.  This  was  glorious  news. 
We  steamed  a  little  way  northward,  when  we  saw 
two  men  running  down  to  the  water's  edge  in 
frantic  joy  to  greet  us. 

We  were  not  long  in  abandoning  the  "  Search," 
and  soon  reached  Captain  Fenlon's  camp,  where  a 
scene  of  the  wildest  joy  and  thanksgiving  ensued. 
"  God  bless  you  !  God  bless  you !  our  brave  de- 
liverers," fell  from  the  lips  of  our  new-found  ac- 
quaintances. Men  embraced  and  kissed  each  other  ; 
knelt  and  fell  prostrate  before  each  other  in  idola- 
trous thankfulness. 

As  I  approached  the  camp,  my  heart  beat  wildly. 
Mingled  joy,  sorrow,  anger  -ind  terror  seized  me. 
What  would  the   next    few  minutes   bring   forth } 


w 


-'■'S:^S^^^  4,j*.Mi&(vt^ic*-srrf 


ove  southward, 
un  swept  around 
ipper  disk  alone 

we  were  enabled 
reached  latitude 

vessel  crushed 
f  a  dozen  of  us 
e  wreck.  It  was 
Milon's  boat, 
'arks,  whose  ex- 
valuable  acquisi- 

the  use  of   his 

a  lofty  ice-pack 

5  glorious  news. 

d,  when  we  saw 

water's   edge    in 

I  the  "  Search," 
s  camp,  where  a 
ksgiving  ensued. 
!  our  brave  de- 
r  new-found  ac- 
issed  each  other ; 
other  in  idola- 

eart  beat  wildly. 
;rror  seized  me. 
es   bring   forth  ? 


[ 


}; 


/EAA'  GRANT. 


i73 


Would  Colonel  Windsor  be  among  the  survivors  of 
the  wreck  ?  Had  he  gone  down  to  the  sea  with  his 
crimes  unconfessed  ? 

Never  shall  I   forget  the  scenes  which  met  my 
gaze.     Only  ten   of  Captain   Fenlon's     party  were 
found  alive.     The  condition  of  these  was  such  that 
they  could  not  have  lived  more  than  a  few  days 
longer.     A  strong  wind  had  blown  their  tent  down ; 
they  had  not    strength  enough  to  raise   it  again. 
The  survivors,  too  feeble  to  help  themselves,  with 
two  or  three  exceptions,  had  lain  there  for  three 
days  and  three  nights,  stretched  out  in  their  sleep- 
ing-bags, pressed  close  to  the  damp,  cold  matting 
which    formed  the   floor,  by  the  heavy  poles  and 
'  material   of  the   tent.     They   had    no    provisions. 
They  were  emaciated  and  pale ;  and  looked  more 
like   skeletons  than   living   men.     Caotain    Fenlon 
was  cold  to  the  waist;  his  pulse  could   hardly  be 
felt;  the  grim  expression  of  deatli  overspread  his 
features  ;  he  was  wholly  unconscious. 

The  condition  of  his  comrades  was  scarcely  less 
critical ;  only  a  few  of  them  were  able  to  speak 

The  surroundings  were  most  desolate  and  dis- 
heartening. The  ice  all  around  the  tont  was 
strewn  ,vith  old  cloches,  cans,  jars  and  debris. 
The  most  expensive  and  delicate  scientific  appara- 
tus, such  as  chronometers,  barometers  and  glasses, 
were  to  be  seen  scattered  about. 

My  heart  was  melted  even  to  tears,  although  my 


•r 


174 


JEAN  GRANT. 


mind  was  far  more  intent  on  its  wearisome  mission 
than  on  anything  else. 

Where  was  Colonel  Windsor? 

As  we  bent  above  the  forms  of  th^se  dying 
heroes,  and  saw  their  faces  revealed  in  the  dim 
unsteady  light  of  blubber-lamps,  I  peered  with 
wistful,  painful,  almost  distracting  expectation  into 
each  pair  of  wildly-staring  eyes  which  looked  forth 
from  the  mass  of  rubbish,  in  the  hope  of  finding 
the  man  whom  I  sought.  In  vain.  He  was  not 
among  the  living. 

We  renderd  our  best  services  to  the  sick  and 
dying  explorers.  We  removed  them  to  more  com- 
fortable quarters  in  our  capacious  boat.  Later  on, 
Dr.  Parks  accompanied  me  back  to  the  camp. 
The  Aurora  Borealis  burst  forth  in  all  the 
magnificent  beauty  in  which  it  is  seen  in  these 
northern  latitudes,  transforming  the  dreary,  north- 
ern night  into  day.  A  little  way  from  the  camp, 
we  found  the  remains  of  the  dead  heroes,  partly 
covered  in  a  mound  of  snow.  A  track  led  from  the 
the  camp  to  this  lonely  little  graveyard.  At  once, 
we  began  overhauling  the  corpses,  thinking  that  if 
we  should  find  among  them  the  body  of  Colonel 
Windsor,  we  might  be  able  to  obtain  some  clue, 
however  slight,  on  his  person. 

Horrid  to  relate!  the  bodies  had  been  carved  and 
nearly  all  the  flesh  removed.  Nothing  was  left  but 
the  white,  shining  bones  and  the  swollen  faces. 


i?' 


insome  mission 


3f  th^se  dying 
L'd  ill  the  dim 
I  peered  with 
jcpectation  into 
:h  looked  forth 
lope  of  finding 
.     He  was  not 

>  the  sick  and 
1  to  more  com- 
oat.     Later  on, 

to  the  camp, 
h     in     all     the 

seen  in  these 
:;  dreary,  north- 
fiom  the  camp, 
d  heroes,  partly 
ck  led  from  the 
;ard.  At  once, 
:hinking  that  if 
ody  of  Colonel 
:ain  some  clue, 

)een  carved  and 

ng  was  left  but 

swollen  faces. 


JEAN  GRANT. 

The  survivors  had  been  driven  to  cannibalism. 
With  sickening  hearts,  wo  scanned  each  face,  but 
even  here,  among  the  dead,  we  found  no  trace  of 
Colonel  Windsor. 

Investigations  which  must  necessarily  be  made, 
prevented  the  "  Search  "  from  turning  homeward 
for  at  least  a  fortnight.  Large  tents  were  pitched 
on  the  ice  some  distance  from  our  boat,  in  which 
the  invalids  were  laid,  and  most  of  our  provisions 
stored,  lest  a  treacherous^  iceberg  sliould  crush  our 
boat  to  pieces. 

Impatiently,  I  awaited  the  slow  recovery  of  Cap- 
tain Fenlon.  At  last.  Dr.  Parks  gained  for  me 
an  admission  to  the  Captain's  sick  bed.  I  enquired 
for  the  fate  of  Colonel  Abbott. 

"Ah,"  he  said  feebly,  "the  poor  Colonel  is  no 
more.  We  were  starving.  H<!  was  one  of  a  party 
of  three  brave  fellows  ubo  volunteered  a  trip  of 
fifty  miles  to  recover  a  quantity  of  beef  cached 
some  five  years  ago  by  Captain  Nares,  at  Cape  Isa- 
bella.  None  of  them  ever  returned.  We  found 
one  of  them,  poor  Laing,  lying  dead  within  a  mile 
of  the  camp.  The  others  have  never  been  heard 
of.  They  were  lost  and  frozen.  The  beef  was 
never  recovered." 

All  feeling  left  me.    All  hope  was  gone. 


[I 

r 

i 
t 


11^ 


CHAi'^TER  XIX.  ' 

Fortunately  for  us,  all  our  supplies  and  stores 
were  removed  from  the  ship  to  the  camp.  A  glitter- 
ing iceberg  whose  crystal  turrets  rose  hundreds  of 
feet,  broke  into  fragments,  tumbling  into  the 
water  with  a  terrific  crash  which  bccnicd  to  shake 
the  shore  for  miles  around,  and  left  the  "  Search, " 
notwithstanding  her  mt.^nificent  strCiigth  of  con- 
struction, a  shattered  wreck  which  drifted  along  the 
dark  tide,  locked  in  the  embrace  of  the  splendid 
fragments  of  the  glacier. 

The  dcStjair  which  fell  upon  us  cannot  be 
described,  cannot  be  imagined.  We  looked  into 
each  others  faces  speechless,  horrified.  Our  vessel 
crushed  into  atoms  almost,  left  without  access  to 
the  civili/ed  world,  without  help,  without  hope,  we 
could  only  resign  ourselves  to  the  certain  fate  of 
that  deadly  climate  and  prepare  for  death. 

Each  day  saw  the  death  of  some  hapless  victim 
to  the  fatal  scurvy.  Each  day,  life  became  more 
intolerable,  and  death  more  welcome.  Each  day 
the  irksome  monotony  tended  more  and  more  to 
deaden  our  feelings  of  humanity  and  reduce  us  to 
the  level  of  the  brute  creation.     The  dense,  unin- 


JEAN  GRANT. 


m 


)lies  and  stores 
mp.  A  glitter- 
se  hundreds  of 
ling  into  the 
cnicd  to  shake 
:  the  "  Si.arch," 
rength  of  con- 
riftcd  along  the 
f   the   splendid 

us  cannot  be 
/e  looked  into 
ed.  Our  vessel 
thout  access  to 
thout  hope,  \vc 

certain  fate  of 
death. 

hapless  victim 
:  became  more 
ne.  Each  day 
e  and  more  to 
id  reduce  us  to 
he  dense,  unin- 


terrupted night  of  two  months  which  deepened 
upon  ur,,  scarcely  symbolized  the  darker  and  more 
awful  night  that  brooded  over  our  desponding 
spirits.  The  strongest  and  bravest  were  perishing 
day  by  day ;  and  I,  feeble,  depressed  and  heart-sick 
from  the  beginning  of  the  voyage,  lived  on.  And 
yet  it  was  not  I  who  lived;  it  was  my  purpose.  I 
was  no  longer  a  man;  I  was  a  living,  incarnate 
purpose.  And  yet  why  should  I  still  hope  ?  My 
mission  had  failed.  My  purpose  had  been  baffled. 
What  hoped  remained?  None.  Still  something 
bade  me  live.  Something  told  me  that  success  yet 
awaited  me.  If  I  were  only  home  again!  Alas! 
that  hope  was  vain. 

Colonel  Windsor  was  only  one  of  an  organized 
confederacy  of  guilt.  He  was  dead.  Alone,  friend- 
less, homeless,  he  had  perished  with  his  sins  uncon- 
fessed.  His  body,  stark  and  stiff,  lay.  unmarked, 
on  the  bleak  Arctic  desert.  True,  he  was  gone. 
But  others  remained  whose  hands  had  been 
imbrued  in  innocent  blood.  Some  day,  discord 
would  lead  to  exposure;  exposure  to  conviction. 
Some  day,  in  the  distant  future,  it  might  be,  some 
penitent  member  of  the  cabal  would  in  a  death-bed 
confession,  discover  the  horrifying  details  of  a  life 
of  crime.  Some  day,  all  would  out.  Oh ! 
merciful  heaven !  if  I  were  only  home.  1  would 
wait  for  long  years;  wait  till  my  life  had  run  its 
course,  that  I   might  expose  the   dark  conspiracy 


13 


9'i 


iifc 


178 


/fi.4^  GRANT. 


which  had  robbed  me  of  home,  of  felicity,  and  of 
friendship,  and  condemned  me  to  the  uneasy  life  of 
of  a  foot-sore  and  heart-broken  pilgrim,  on  the 
shores  of    a   world   of    infinite    pain    and   sorrow. 

Dr.  Parks  was  apparently  as  much  at  home 
amidst  these  perils  as  if  he  were  in  "  Merrie  Eng- 
land." Given  a  gun,  ammunition  and  something  to 
kill,  he  was  contented.  He  had  several  hair-breadth 
escapes  which  he  enjoyed  hugely.  "This  is  a 
blooming  fine  country  for  sport,"  he  used  to  say 
whilst  all  the  rest  of  us  had  the  blues.  "  A  man  who 
can't  live  for  a  year  on  brandy  and  ice  with  good 
tobacco  for  dessert,  isn't  fit  to  be  a  traveller." 
And  other  times  when  he  and  I  were  alone,  he  would 
take  Jean's  photograph,  which  I  gave  him  as  a  sou- 
venir and  looking  at  it  say,  "Garland,  I  don't  mean 
to  die  till  I  find  Jean  Grant.  If  I  have  to  walk  to 
New  York  or  go  by  balloon,  I'm  going  to  get 
there." 

The  marvels  of  this  continuous  Arctic  night  were 
not  for  me.  I  had  seen,  but  without  appreciation, 
the  matchless  magnificence  of  the  Ar«tic  sunset 
wrapping  the  snow-covered  mountains  and  the 
towering  ice-dome  with  all  the  glories  of  color. 
The  moon,  shining  serenely  beautiful,  through  the 
attenuated  air,  wheeled  her  continual  circles  around 
the  horizon  for  days,  surrourded  by  trooping  con- 
stellations of  stars,  brighter  than  are  visible  in  any 
other  part  of  th&.world.     Under  her  bright  beams. 


T 


felicity,  and  of 
:  uneasy  life  of 
ilgrim,  on  the 
11  and  sorrow, 
luch   at    home 

"  Merrie  Eng- 
i  something  to 

al  hair-breadtli 

.     "This    is   a 

le  used  to  say 

"  A  man  who 

ice  with  good 
e  a  traveller." 
alone,  he  would 
;  him  as  a  sou- 
],  I  don't  mean 
iiave  to  walk  to 
going  to   get 

rctic  night  were 
it  appreciation, 
Ar«tic  sunset 
tains  and  the 
lories  of  color, 
il,  through  the 
1  circles  around 
y  trooping  con- 
:  visible  in  any 
r  bright  beams.. 


/EAN  GRANT. 


m 


the  landscape,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  pierce 
through  the  transparent,  lustrous  atmosphere,  was 
one  immense  uniform  desert,  shrouded  in  garments 
of  white;  but  the  most  magnificent  spectacle 
beheld  in  these  sterile  regions  is  the  magical  grand- 
eur of  the  aurora. 

It  is  night.     The  moon  has  retired  beneath  the 
horizon.      Down     through     the     dense     darkness 
which  prevails  in  these  higher  latitudes,  the  watch- 
ful    stars    are     peering    brilliantly    upon    us.     A 
long,  brilliant  bow  of  light  pushes  itself  up  from 
the  northern  horizon.     It  rises  and   falls  like   the 
flowing  and   ebbing   tides.     Now   it   sinks   out   of 
sight.     Now  it  raises  its  luminous  crest  hiftli  into 
the  misty  heavens.     For  a  few  moments  it  d.nices 
with  a  pulsating,  trembling  motion.     Suddenly  its 
upper  rim   bursts.     Behold !    the  whole  northern 
heavens,    clear    to    the    zenith,   are    flooded   with 
streams  of   dancing,  radiating   light.     It  is  like  a 
wide  expanse  of  sea  on  fire,  its  surface  of  brilliant 
waves  assuming   new   positions  and   combinations 
every  instant.     Another  change.     The  transparent 
beams  assume  new  colors.     Near  the  horizon,  they 
are   a  clear  blood-red ;   higher  up,  a  pale  emerald 
tint.     Still  higher,  they  are  of  a  light  yellow  color. 
The  earth  glows  under  their  magical  light.     Yon- 
der, the   dark,    slumbering  sea  assumes  a  beauty 
surpassing  its  own,  as  it  absorbs  the  many  colored 
beams  and  pencils  of  light.    The  spreading  streams 


1 


i8o 


/£AAr  GRANT. 


r.  ' 


'•I 


I 


it? 


\V    1 


^If-: 


begin  to  converge  at  the  top,  T\\c\  are  ill  moving, 
dancing,  changing,  like  a  host  of  light-clad  genii. 
Nearer  and  nearer  their  yellow  branches  grow 
towards  each  other,  till,  finally,  the  phenomenon 
attains  its  climax,  by  the  formation  of  a  resplendent 
copula  of  light.  The  earth  is  silent,  as  if  spellbound. 
Gradually,  the  crown  disappears  ;  the  bow  dissolves ; 
the  streams  of  light  shorten  ;  their  merry  motion 
becomes  slower ;  their  color  melts  into  faint  yellow  ; 
fainter,  fainter  they  shine,  till  they  disappear,  leav- 
ing the  ice-bound  desert  in  its  silence,  solitude  and 
darkness. 

The  long  night  of  winter  was  about  over,  and  the 
re-animating  effects  of  returning  spring  and  twilight 
began  to  be  felt.  All  day  long,  the  sun,  like  a 
mighty  wheel  of  fire,  seemed  to  roll  along  the 
terrestrial  horizon.  For  about  six  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four  it  was  behind  the  great  mountains  of 
snow  and  ice  to  the  North — this  we  called  night — 
during  the  rest  of  the  time  it  was  morning  twilight. 
This  change  had  not  come  too  soon  ;  our  provisions 
were  almost  exhausted  ;  our  numbers  had  decreased 
to  twenty-five,  all  told.  Brave  Captain  Fenlon  had 
been  numbered  with  the  dead.  Our  only  course 
wi.s  to  commence  a  hazardous  retreat  along  that 
barren,  desolate  shore,  so  as  to  reach  some  point 
accessible  to  navigation.  But  how  could  we  do  so  ? 
We  had  only  two  or  three  small  boats  left.  We 
were  too  weak  to  contend  with  the  extraordinary 


:tre  ill  moving, 
ght-clad  genii, 
•ranches  grow 
;  phenomenon 
f  a  resplendent 
s  if  spellbound, 
bow  dissolves ; 
merry  motion 
o  faint  yellow ; 
lisappear,  leav- 
s,  solitude  and 

t  over,  and  the 
ig  and  twilight 
he  sun,  like  a 
roll  along  the 
)urs  out  of  the 

mountains  of 
called  night — 
)rning  twilight. 

our  provisions 
>  had  decreased 
lin  Fenlon  had 
ir  only  course 
eat  along  that 
ch  some  point 
Duld  we  do  so  ? 
oats  left.    We 

extraordinary 


T 


yEA/^  C/iANT. 


ftl 


perils  of  a  southward  march.  Now  the  bitter 
north  wind  drove  the  massive  pack  crashing  against 
the  shore  ;  now  the  south  wind  drove  it  again  into 
the  narrow  ciiannels,  making  navigation  impossible; 
now  the  dense  fog  turned  day  into  night.  Our 
position  was  indeed  critical. 

One  ni"ht,  we  were  awakened  from  our  miserable 
sleep  by  a  tremendous  upheaval  of  the  earth  and  a 
long  resounding  series  of   rumbling  noises,  resem- 
bliiig  distant  thunder.    We  were  dreadf'   ''alarmed. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  earth  wer         caking  to 
pieces.     "  An  earthquake  !  "  we  all  exclaimed  simul- 
taneously.    We    pi'ayed     for    morning.     When   it 
came,   we    perceived   that    the    huge   iceberg,   on 
which  we  had  encamped  believing  it  to  be  terra 
Jirtm,  had  been  dislodged  by  the   swelling  under- 
tide   and   was    moving    slowly   southward    in   the 
treacherous  current.     "A  good    idea,"  said   Parks. 
"  We're    all   right   now.     We'll  reach  the  Equator 
and  sit  on  it  till  we're  picked   up.     I  always  Jiked 
the  Equator.     It  holds  the  balance  of  power." 

"  Southward  with  fleet  of  ice 
Sailed  the  corsair  Death  ; 
Wild  and  fast  blew  the  blast, 
And  the  east  wind  was  his  breath. 

"  His  lordly  ships  of  ice 
Glistened  in  the  sun  ; 
On  each  side,  like  pennons  wide, 
Flashing  crystal  streamlets  run. 


I8- 


JEAN  GRANT. 


"  His  sails  of  white  sea  mist 
Dripped  wilii  silver  rain  ; 
Iliii  « litre  he  passed  there  were  cast 
Leadti)  shadows  o'er  tlie  main." 


r 


■A 


I 


Southward,  southward  we  drifted  slowly,  through 
weary  days  and  horrid,  sleepless  nights.  We  were 
able  to  kill  an  occasional  seal,  thanks  to  the  daring 
and  skill  of  our  native  hunter,  Joss,  which  helped 
us  to  stay  the  ravages  of  scurvy.  Our  supplies 
were  almost  gone  ;  we  began  to  live  on  sealskin. 

Southward,  still  southward  we  move.  The  ice 
is  getting  thinner,  ani  .ve  fear  every  moment  that  the 
exj- msive  fitld  on  wliiiih  we  are  drifting  will  break 
in  pieces.  We  are  killing  and  eating  our  dogs. 
We  cook  our  meals  over  tin;  lamp. 

The  sun  shines  beautifully.  We  love  to  see  it. 
It  reminds  us  of  our  own  fair  homes.  It  brings  out 
a  fine  large  seal  which  falls  a  victim  to  the  unerring 
aim  of  (.r.'{  good  spirit,  Joss.  This  rejoices  our 
hr^"  for  :;  few  days,  but  we  have  no  reprieve  from 
C'ir  ominous  apprehensions.  The  warm  sun  which 
bviigs  out  the  seals  will  also  dissolve  our  crystal 
ihip.  Everywhere,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
there  is  nothing  but  icebergs  and  floes,  breaking, 
crashing  and  colliding,  with  a  noise  like  the  roar  of 
battle.  We  expect  the  floe  to  break  into  a  thou- 
sand pieces  every  moment. 

Southward,  forever  southward,  we  are  drifting. 
We  are  starving.    We  have  eaten  nothing   for  a 


cast 

slowly,  through 
jilts.  We  were 
i  to  the  daring 
I,  which  helped 
Our  supplies 
on  sealskin, 
love.  The  ice 
loment  that  the 
ting  will  break 
ting   our   dogs. 

love  to  see  it. 
It  brings  out 
to  the  unerring 
is  rejoices  our 
0  reprieve  from 
arm  sun  which 
live  our  crystal 
sye  can  reach, 
floes,  breaking, 
like  the  roar  of 
ik  into  a  thou- 

e  are    drifting, 
nothing   for  a 


— .-„W  ^.JMJPI?  - '  i  '■' '  -■~'^'  '?7^;W^^ 


o'!^-.  .-g?8.'!»«fe'»aVi.'l'"^--":-r— rt^ZvT 


'^V.^^a? 


^ 


iMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


^^     '^^^l^^ 


L. 


f,' 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


j^.- 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


JEAN  GRANT. 


t^ 


week.  We  are  all  too  weak  to  help  ourselves.  Joss 
stands  it  better  than  any  of  us.  The  end  is  near. 
Joss  goes  off  in  search  of  food.  Thank  God!  he 
has  killed  another  large  seal.  A  wild  storm  on  the 
sea.  The  floe  begins  breaking  up.  Our  camp,  our 
kyack,  and  most  of  our  utensils  are  swept  over- 
board. In  the  morning,  the  floe  drifts  against  the 
coast  of  Greenland  at  Cape  Farewell.  Again  we 
drift  seaward. 

Southward,  southward,  ever  southward.  Seals 
are  abundant.  We  have  plenty  to  eat.  Terrible 
storms  prevail.  Our  health  is  bad.  Our  heads, 
faces  and  hands  are  swollen  to  twice  their  usual 

size. 

The  sun  shines  warmly  and  brightly  from  a 
cloudless  sky.  The  ice  has  cleared  away.  We  can 
now  see  the  gorgeous  appearance  and  enormous 
dimensions  of  the  iceberg  on  which  we  float.  It  is 
sixty  miles  long,  and  almost  as  wide,  while  its 
crystal  towers  rise  glittering  with  prismatic  splendor 
three  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level.  The  bases 
of  these  burnished  columns  shone  like  Parian 
marble  studded  with  gems  of  opal.  From  out  deep 
Cimmerian  caverns,  shone  twinkling  stars  like  the 
eyes  of  luring  spirits.  Where  the  edge  overhung 
the  water,  every  shade  and  tint  of  the  emerald  is 
interspersed  with  streaks  of  cobalt-blue.  Down 
icy  mountain-sides,  leaped  and  gambolled  streams 
and  cascades,  shining  like  molten-silver.     Now  and 


\i 


wmmtmmBmmtm 


i84 


JEAN  GRANT. 


then,  a  tall  column  trembles  for  a  moment,  falls 
with  a  tremendous  crash  on  its  sloping  foundations, 
and  tumbles  in  fragments  into  the  ocean. 

Southward,  yet  southward.  New  difficulties 
interpose ;  again  we  are  face  to  face  with  starvation. 
A  violent  storm.  We  are  camped  near  the  edge  of 
the  ice-ficld  so  that  we  may  the  better  keep  a  lookout 
for  passing  boats.  Before  we  can  change  our  posi- 
tion the  sea  strikes  us,  washes  over  us  and  carries 
away  everything,  leaving  us  drenched,  benumbed, 
perishing.  Again  and  again,  the  cold  heavy  waves 
wash  over  us.  It  takes  all  our  strength  to  keep 
ourselves  from  being  washed  overboard.  One  of 
our  number  dies.  We  are  forced  to  accept  canni- 
balism.    God  pity  us  !     It  is  awful ! 

Dr.  Parks  declared  that  human  flesh  wasn't  half 
bad.  "If  one  half  of  the  world  knew  how  good  the 
other  half  tasted  the  economic  question  of  increas- 
ing populations  would  be  solved,"  he  said.  But  we 
all  feel  stronger  now.  Joss  is  himself  again.  He 
goes  off  and  shoots  a  huge  bear.  His  gun,  which 
he  prizes  above  all  things,  is  the  only  thing  saved. 
Without  it,  we  must  inevitably  have  perished.  Our 
spirits  revive.  Joss  kills  two  seals.  We  have  food 
in  abundance.  My  own  health  has  improved  under 
the  generous  and  almost  fatherly  treatment  of  Dr. 
Parks.  I  am  able  to  walk  again.  We  go  of!,  Dr. 
Parks  and  I,  on  a  hunting  expedition,  with  Joss. 
The    day  is  serenely    beautiful.    We  are  several 


JEAN  GRANT. 


185 


r  a  moment,  falls 
aping  foundations, 
;  ocean. 

New  difficulties 
ce  with  starvation, 
d  near  the  edge  of 
tter  keep  a  lookout 
\  change  our  posi- 
ver  us  and  carries 
nched,  benumbed, 
:  cold  heavy  waves 
■  strength  to  keep 
verboard.  One  of 
:d  to  accept  canni- 
nl! 

n  flesh  wasn't  half 
{new  how  good  the 
uestion  of  increas- 
"  he  said.  But  we 
limself  again.  He 
■.     His  gun,  which 

only  thing  saved, 
ave  perished.  Our 
Is.  We  have  food 
as  improved  under 
ly  treatment  of  Dr. 
n.  We  go  off,  Dr. 
)edition,  with  Joss. 
We  are  several 


miles  from  the  rude  camp  which  we  improvised. 
Joss  sees  a  seal,  dodges  off  among  the  tall  cliffs  and 
columns,  and  leaves  us.  We  wait.  He  returns 
not.  He  has  forgotten  us  in  the  eager  chase.  We 
begin  to  retrace  our  steps.     We   cannot.     We  are 

lost!  „    ,      ,, 

"Gad,  old  fellow!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Parks,  we 
are  elected ;  we  are  between  the  devil  and  the  deep 
sea  with  a  strong  bent  towards  the  devil.  Let's  get 
up  a  toboggan  and  slide  down  these  slopes  to  keep 
ourselves  warm." 


uroifriw»ii»iw>""M»'i"*'i'''^''""""'''^'''^'^°""^"''*'''^'^^^*^ 


iiS55ii.„>;s~»i!f5«,;!:;rK-:»''''^ 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Dr.  Parks  was  an  experienced  traveller,  and 
I  trusted  that  he  would  be  able  to  find  our  way 
back.  But  he  was  quite  as  much  at  sea  as  myself. 
The  compass  afforded  no  help,  since  our  gigantic 
ice-ship  often  performed  one  or  more  revolutions  in 
a  day.  Ni<^ht  was  approaching,  and  we  knew  that 
a  night's  exposure  would  mean  almost  certain 
death ;  yet  we  were  so  inured  to  hardships  and 
dangers,  that  we  could  endure  much  more  than 
ordinary  men.  We  struggled  on  aimlessly.  Night- 
fall found  us  lost  on  this  frigid,  shelterless  iceberg. 
We  dared  not  lie  down  to  sleep  on  the  bare  ice. 
Our  only  hope  of  surviving  the  coldness  and  hu- 
midity of  the  air  of  that  night,  was  by  keeping 
constantly  on  the  move.  We  wandered  all  night. 
Without  food,  our  bodies  began  to  give  out.  Dr. 
Parks  had  with  him  a  small  phial  of  brandy  which 
he  used  as  a  medicine  in  emergencies.  Several 
times  during  the  night  we  moistened  our  lips  with 
this. 

Morning  came.     We  were  too  weak  to  walk  fur- 
ther.     We  could  only  lie  down  and   perish.     As 
•  the  dawn  appeared  we  climbed  on-  to  one  of  the 


JEAN  GRANT. 


\%r 


X. 

iced  traveller,  and 
le  to  find  our  way 
h  at  sea  as  myself. 
•,  since  our  gigantic 
more  revolutions  in 
,  and  we  knew  that 
;an  almost  certain 
I  to  hardships  and 
:  much  more  than 
n  aimlessly.  Night- 
,  shelterless  iceberg, 
ep  on  the  bare  ice. 
le  coldness  and  hu- 
ht,  was  by  keeping 
wandered  all  night, 
n  to  give  out.  Dr. 
ial  of  brandy  which 
ergencies.  Several 
istened  our  lips  with 

)0  weak  to  walk  fur- 
vn  and  perish.  As 
J  on- to  one  of  the 


high  bases  of  ice,  in  order  to  be  more  easily 
detected  by  our  companions.  We  sat  down  and 
resolved  to  submit  to  our  fate. 

Dr.  Parks  took  out  his  small  phial  in  which 
there  yet  remained  a  few  ounces  of  liquor.  "  We 
may  as  well  live  as  long  as  this  will  keep  us  alive, 
old  man,"  said  he,  humorously,  for  he  was  one  of 
those  jolly  Englishmen  who  can  die  with  as  much 
composure  as  they  can  live. 

I  raised  the  phial  to  my  lips,  but  dropped  it  again 
before  1  had  tasted  the  liquor.     Something  in  front 
of  me  a  few  rods,  which  looked   like  a  bundle  of 
rags,     attracted     my   attention.      "Look!     what's 
that?"     I  exclaimed  ;   and  we  both  rose  to  our  feet 
at  once  by  sheer  strength  of  excitement.     We  stag- 
gered  forward,  and  there,   in    an   elevated   cavern 
formed  by   a  projecting  ice-front,  lay  a  man,  in  a 
most  deplorable  condition.     His  body  was  sewed  up 
in  a  bag  after  the    manner   of   Arctic   voyageurs. 
His  frame  was  reduced  to  a  skeleton ;   his  fingers 
were  like  pipe  stems  ;  and  his  face  was  swollen  and 
distorted.     His   long,  dishevelled  hair,  as  white  as 
snow,  fell  far  down  on  his  shoulders;  and  his  beard 
was  also  extremely  long  and  white. 

He  did  not  seem  to  realize  our  presence  for  a  time. 
He  w^;.  in  a  horrid  condition  of  filth,  misery  and  suf- 
ering.  We  took  in  the  situation  in  a  flash.  This 
poor  wretch  was  also  a  member  of  some  exploring 
party  who  had  wandered  away  from  his  company 


\  \ 


iSi 


JEAN  GRANT. 


and  got  lost ;  beside  him  lay  a  large  quantity  of  pem- 
ican  which  liad  sustained  him  through  the  terrible 
ordeal.  He  hud  lain  there  for  months,  unable  to 
move  his  body  or  help  himself  in  any  way.  Dr. 
Parks  felt  his  pulse  and  administered  a  few  drops  of 
brandy.  His  feet  and  legs  up  to  the  knees  had  liter- 
ally rotted  off,  and  his  right  arm  lay  withered  and 
dead  by  his  side.  It  struck  us  little  less  than  mirac- 
ulous that  life  should  still  burn  within  this  wasted, 
putrefying  form. 

Into  this  sheltered  cave  the  sun  shone  warmly, 
so  that  Dr.  Parks  immediately  took  out  his  knife 
and  began  ripping  open  the  sack  which  encased  our 
unfortunate  fellow-sufferer.  His  clothes,  matted 
and  rotten,  clung  to  the  sack  and  exposed  his  naked 
chest  to  our  view,  on  which  I  observed  a  black  star, 
marked  with  India  ink.  Suddenly,  the  man  re- 
vived a  little.  I  saw  him  open  his  eyes— such  eyes, 
black,  piercing,  terrible,  eloquent  of  joy,  pain,  alarm, 
despair.  Never  had  I  seen  a  pair  of  eyes  express  so 
much.  Those  awful  black  eyes !  Where  had  I  seen 
them  before  ?  "  Colonel  Windsor !  Colonel  Wind- 
sor!  Colonel  Windsor!"  I  shouted,  overcome 
with  delirious  joy  and  excitement,  "  At  last !  at 
last!   at  last !  " 

I  snatched  up  the  phial  and  fiercely,  madly,  thrust 
the  contents  into  the  dying  man's  throat.  I  knelt 
above  his  face.  I  put  my  lips  close  to  his  ear  and 
cried—"  Colonel  Windsor !    I  am  Arthur  Garland  ! 


JEAN  GRANT. 


189 


rge  quantity  of  pem- 
ihrough  the  terrible 
■  months,  unable  to 
If  in  any  way.  Dr. 
tered  a  few  drops  of 
)  the  knees  had  liter- 
m  lay  withered  and 
little  less  than  mirac- 
within  this  wasted, 

;  sun  shone  warmly, 
'  took  out  his  knife 
:k  which  encased  our 
iis  clothes,  matted 
nd  exposed  his  naked 
Dbserved  a  black  star, 
idenly,  the  man  re- 
his  eyes — such  eyes, 
nt  of  joy,  pain,  alarm, 
air  of  eyes  express  so 
s !  Where  had  I  seen 
Isor !  Colonel  Wind- 
shouted,  overcome 
ment,   "At  last!   at 

fiercely,  madly,  thrust 
lan's  throat.  I  knelt 
>s  close  to  his  ear  and 
am  Arthur  Garland ! 


You  are  dying!  tell  me,  I  pray  you,  why  you  mur- 
dered  George  Wentworth.  Toll  me,  before  you  die, 
where  are  Jean  Grant  and  Leonore  Sherman  ?  " 

He  rallied  for  a  moment,  and  on  hearing  those 
names  mentioned,  opened  his  eyes  widely  and 
looked  at  me.  His  lips  were  moving.  1  put  my 
ear  close  to  his  mouth  that  I  might  catch  every 
syllable  he  uttered.  .,  ah   • 

••Too  late!  too  late!"  he  whispered.  "All  is 
over  now.  1  shall  say  nothing,"  and  a  calm,  defiant 
smile  overspread  his  ghastly  features. 

"Not  yet  too  late,"  I  exclaimed  fervently,  to 
repent  of  your  wrong-doing.  Not  yet  too  late  to 
undo  much  of  the  wrong  which  you  have  inflicted 
on  your  innocent  and  unsuspecting  wife  and  her 
family  Not  yet  too  late  to  tell  me  where  and  how 
I  may  find  your  victims  if  they  still  live,  that  I  may 
deliver  them  from  their  chains  of  fire.  Not  yet  too 
late  to  confess  your  sins  before  God  and  die  in  the 
peace  and  happiness  of  his  sovereign  forgiveness. 
Speak !  for  God's  sake  speak,  ere  it  be  too  late. 

He  muttered,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  I  robbed  you 
of  a  wife  ;  I  murdered  George  .Wentworth ;  and 
Leonore-  Ah!  yes;  I  did  it  all :  Arthur  Garland 
you  have  hn  1  your  revenge ;  I  have  been  punished, 
let  me  die  in  pt  .ice." 

"You  are  a  cool  villain;  you  must  have  had  a 
chill!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Parks  with  some  little 
^motion. 


I ) 


i 


190 


JEAN  GRANT. 


"Think  not  of  >«<•,  Colonel  Windsor.  I  freely 
forgive  you.  I  seek  no  revenge.  Think  not  of  me. 
Think  of  Jean  !  Think  of  Leonore  !  Think  of  poor 
Mrs.  Sherman  !  Tell  me  about  them.  Speak,  man, 
speak !  You  are  dying.  Do  not  meet  a  despised 
and  outraged  God  with  your  sins  unconfessed.  One 
word  !  Quick!  Where  is  your  wife?  Where  is 
Leonore  }  " 

"  Tliey  are  both  living.     They  are  both — " 

A  loud  roar.  A  trembling  of  the  ice  beneath  us. 
A  long  resounding  crash.  The  ice-field  had  at  last 
split  asimdcr.  It  parted  beneath  the  dying  man's 
miserable  couch.  In  an  instant.  Colonel  Windsor 
and  myself  were  precipitated  into  the  black,  angry 
waters.  "  O  Christ,"  I  prayed  aloud,  *'  save  us  !  save 
us  !  "  I  clung  with  a  death-grip  to  my  helpless  com- 
panion. I  must  save  Aim  I  must  hear  one  more 
word  from  his  lips.  Better  die  than  live,  losing  all  I 
had  to  live  for.  Down,  down,  down,  into  the  surging 
billows.  A  thought,  a  terrible  thought  of  my  loved 
Leonore,  a  swift  ecstatic  panorama  of  all  my  past  life 
— I  remembered  no  more. 

I  found  myself,  some  hours  later,  lying  on  the  ice, 
with  Dr.  Parks  bending  above  me.  He  had 
leaped  into  the  water  and  rescued  me  in  the  nick 
of  time. 

My  senses  returned  slowly;  and  as  they  quick- 
ened, the  terrible  realization  of  my  predicament 
was  borne  in  on  my  soul.    Colonel  Windsor  had 


JEAN  GRANT. 


191 


^Vindsor.  I  freely 
Think  not  of  me. 
re!  Tliink  of  poor 
liem.  Speak,  man, 
>t  meet  a  despised 
unconfcssed.  One 
r  wife?    Where  is 

are  both—" 
the  ice  beneath  us. 

ice-field  had  at  last 
th  the  dying  man's 
:,  Colonel  Windsor 
ito  the  black,  angry 
)ud,  *'  save  us  !  save 
:o  my  helpless  com- 
lust  hear  one  more 
lan  live,  losing  all  I 
ivn,  into  the  surging 
liought  of  my  loved 
la  of  all  my  past  life 

er,  lying  on  the  ice, 
ve  me.  He  had 
ued  me  in  the  nick 

and  as  they  quick- 
)f  my  predicament 
lonel  Windsor  had 


cone  down   into  the  deep,  silent  sea.  to  return  no 
more ;  truly  his  punishment  had  been  more  severe 
and  long-tormenting  than  human  laws  ever  mflicted. 
than   human   minds   ever    conceived.     For   that   I 
cared   not.     The   excruciating   pangs   of    his   long 
death  had  not  restored  the  love,  the  happiness  and 
the   friendship  which  his  criminality  had   blasted 
forever.    Who    can    contemplate  -for  a    moment, 
without   experiencing    the    profoundest    sympathy 
and  sorrow,  the  luckless  result  of  my  long  quest^ 
To  have  devoted  the  best  years  of  my  life  to  my 
self-imposed     task;    to    have   crossed    contments 
oceans,   mountains   and  deserts ;  to  have  banished 
myself   from   friends,  and   wandered,    an   exile    in 
foreign    lands,    among    savage    people;    to    have 
endured  the   fever-laden   sun   of  the  tropics,  and 
dared  the   untold  hardships   of    Arctic  night   and 
winter;   to    have    drifted    for    six  long,   perilous 
months  on  this  piece  of  ice.  with  death  staring  me 
in  the  face  all  the  time  ;  to  have  done  all  this  lor 
the  sake  of  those  I  love,  and  for  the  punishment  of 
a  man  who  had  inflicted  such  unspeakable  wrongs 
upon  them;  to  have  abandoned  hope  a  thousand 
times;  and  to  have   found    him  when   hope  had 
perished,  and  in  a  place  where  no  mortal  would  be 
sought  for;  to  have  heard  him  confess  his  crimes 
and  ask  that  he  might  die  in  peace;  and,  hardest  of 
all,  to  have  heard  his  lips  just  beginning  to  tell  me 
how  I  might  undo  some  of  the  evils  of  his  career  of 


J  KAN  GNAiVr. 


kl 


crime;  and  tlici!,  llion,  before  the  words  were 
uttered  to  have  had  him  snatched  from  my  arms 
and  liurled  headlong  into  the  hunjjry  billows  ! 

"  I  hate  you.  I  curse  you,  Dr.  Parks,  for  hav- 
ing saved  me ;  why  not  let  mc  go  down  with 
him?  Why  not  let  me  escape  from  the  hell  of 
my  own  fruitless  existence?  Why  should  I  live? 
What  have  I  to  live  for?" 

"  Ton  my  soul,  old  boy,"  he  answered,  "you  arc 
a  grateful  fellow.  I  nearly  lost  my  own  life  in 
getting  you  out  of  this  scrape,  and  this  is  my  re- 
ward. I  want  to  see  all  the  other  fellows  buried 
decently  before  you  and  I  kick  the  bucket." 

For  a  while  longer  I  lay  in  a  condition  of  mind 
resembling  a  horrible  nightmare. 

After  a  little,  I  began  to  feel  more  comfortable. 
I  had  gained  something,  at  least.  I  had  obtained 
some  reward  for  my  labors.  I  had  found  Colonel 
Windsor.  I  had  met  him  face  to  face  and  had 
extorted  a  full  confession  of  his  crimes  from  his 
dying  lips.  I  had  seen  him  lying  in  a  condition 
of  privation,  squalor,  disease,  and  agony,  that  hu- 
man lips  dare  not  express,  and  human  hearts  would 
shrink  from  contemplating.  Better  than  all,  I  had 
learned  that  Jean  and  Leonore  were  still  alive. 
After  all,  I  might  yet  be  able  to  find  them.  If  I 
were  only  in  New  York  !  But  of  reaching  a  place 
of  safety,  there  was  little  hope. 

The  iceberg  had  been  broken  into  fragments. 


the  words  were 
xl  from  my  arms 
jry  billows ! 
r.  Parks,  for  hav- 
c  go  down  with 
from  the  hell  of 
\y  should   I   live? 

iswcred,  "  you  arc 
my  own  life  in 
md  this  is  my  re- 
ler  fellows  buried 
2  bucket." 
:ondition  of  mind 

nore  comfortable. 
.  I  had  obtained 
id  found  Colonel 
to    face   and    had 

crimes  from  his 
ig  in  a  condition 
d  agony,  that  hu- 
man hearts  would 
:er  than  all,  I  had 

were   still   alive. 

find  them.     If  I 

reaching  a  place 

ito  fragments. 


//•AX  dA'.I.V?: 


m 


Suddenly,  wc  heard  a  low,  dull  sound,  something 
like  the  splash  of  some  large  body  falling  into  the 
the  water.  We  could  see  nothing.  The  sound 
was  repeated  at  intervals.  We  partook  of  a  small 
quantity  of  Colonel  Windsor's  pemican.  We  were 
strengthened.  The  sounds  continued  to  be  heard 
by  us  every  now  and  then. 

Dr.  Parks  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  highest  frag- 
ment.    He  descried,  distant  about  a  mile,  a  small 
column  of  smoke  curling  into  the  air.     When  the 
smoke  had  cleared  away,  he  saw  a  man  standing  on 
another  summit.     It  was  Joss,  brave,  magnanimous 
Joss.     He  had  been  in  search  of  us  all  night.     The 
sound  we  heard  was  that  of  his  gun,  which  he  was 
firing  off  every  few  minutes,  in  the  hope  of  attract- 
ing  our  attention.     Dr.   Parks  hoisted    his    hand- 
kerchief for  a  signal  and   shouted  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.     Joss  answered  the  signal,  and   in  less  than 
an  hour  he  had  reached  us.     Later  on  in  the  day, 
we  were  brought,  amidst  great  rejoicing,  into  camp 

again.  i        a    v 

Evening  came  down  upon  us  again.     Near  dark, 

we  observed  a  light  as  of  a  passing  boat.  We 
hoisted  burning  torches,  made  of  rags  steeped  in 
blubber,  and  Joss  turned  our  single  firearm  to  the 
best  account.  A  heavy  fog,  however,  soon  ob- 
scured the  light,  and  though  we  sat  up  all  night 
no  help  came.  In  the  morning  no  trace  of  the 
vessel  was  to  be  seen. 
13 


-  ■  '^tetfiA:^'^  '  "r  if -'^~-  ^'  •^r^^^^'-'^^^^r.A  ita'- .'C*-- 


194 


JEAN  GRANT. 


We  have  now  been  on  the  ice  nearly  soven 
months,  and  have  travelled  nearly  t.vo  thousand 
miles.  The  immense  ice-field  has  crumbled  and 
melted.  Our  tent  is  pitched  on  a  small,  unsteady 
floe,  liable  at  any  moment  to  break  to  pieces  or 
turn  over  and  engulf  us  in  the  brine. 

Night  again.  We  dare  not  sleep.  The  ice  is 
dissolving  rapidly.  Our  end  seems  near.  The  fog 
is  so  heavy  that  morning  comes  late.  .  About  ten 
o'clock,  the  sun  high  up  in  the  heavens,  peers 
through  for  the  first  time.  Brighter  and  brighter 
shines  the  day.  The  heavy  mist  has  been  dissi- 
What  is  that  moving  near  us?  Is  it  a 
We  can  scarcely  see  it  yet.     It  looks  like  a 


The    mists  have    all    gone.     "A  ship!     a 
a  ship !  "  We  all  exclaimed  at  once.      "  God 


pated. 

ship  ? 

vessel. 

ship! 

be  praised,  a  ship  !  " 

In  a  few  minutes,  she  stood  near  us.  Boats 
were  lowered  from  her  side  which  conveyed  us  from 
our  icy  home.     At  last  we  were  safe  !     At  last ! 

"We've  had  a  devilish  lot  of  fun  on  that  old 
hulk,"  said  the  imperturbable  Doctor,  "  it's  been 
rare  sport,  I  tell  you,  and  I  wouldn't  mind  going 
on  another  such  shooting  excursion.  But  the 
brandy  was  getting  low  and  a  fellow  likes  to  have 
a  few  swigs  to  steady  his  aim,  you  know.  By  Jove, 
Garland,  I  feel  sorry  to  leave  the  old  decks  ! " 


ce  nearly  seven 
y  t^vo  thousand 
3  crumbled  and 
small,  unsteady 
:ak  to  pieces  or 

ep.  The  ice  is 
5  near.  The  fog 
late.  About  ten 
heavens,  peers 
nter  and  brighter 
;  has  been  dissi- 
;ar  us?  Is  it  a 
It  looks  like  a 
e.  "  A  ship!  a 
at  once.      "  God 

near  us.  Boats 
:onveyed  us  from 
e  !    At  last ! 

fun  on  that  old 
•ctor,  "  it's  been 
Idn't  mind  going 
irsion.  But  the 
low  likes  to  have 
know.  By  Jove, 
Id  decks!" 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

We  were  shown  great  kindness  by  Captain 
Forbes  and  the  other  officers  of  the  "  Leonidas." 
The  health  of  the  rescued  party  improved  rapidly. 

We  were  within  a  few  days'  sail  of  New  York. 
Dr.  Parks  wished  to  speak  with  me  privately.  On 
our  going  apart  he  said  : — 

"Garland,  I  have  a  little  book  here  that  may  be 
useful  to  us,  when  we  reach  New  York." 
"  In  what  way  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  I  cannot  say  just  now,"  he  replied. 
'•  What     is    it  ? "    I    asked    with     some     impa- 
tience. 

"  Nothing  much  ;  it  is  not  an  Esquimaux  Bible  ; 
it  is  only  a  diary,"  he  answered,  with  teasing 
nonchalance. 

"A  diary;  yours?"  I  queried  with  abrupt- 
ness. 

"No;  not  mine,"  he  responded,  mechanically, 
turning  over  the  leaves  and  stopping  now  and  then 
to  look  at  something  of  interest  to  him ;  "  not  mine  ; 
I  have  not  the  patience  and  punctuality  adequate 
to  the  task  of  keeping  a  diary.  This  is  a  devilish 
queer-looking    book.     I    found   it   on   the   ice   the 


196 


JEAN  GRANT. 


'i  I 


Other  day.     It  is  a  relic  of  the  late  Colonel  Wind- 
sor." 

"  His  diary?  " 

"  I  think  so ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  was  a  very 
unmethodical  book-keeper.  While  you  and  he  were 
having  a  little  race  to  see  who  would  drown  first, 
and  praying  that  the  Undines  would  transport  you 
to  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  with  more  than  their 
ordinary  alacrity,  I  cast  about  to  see  what  I  could 
lay  my  hands  on  to  further  our  search." 

"Bravo!  Dr.  Parks;  you  are  a  genius  indeed," 
I  exclaimed  with  a  degree  of  delighted  enthusiasm 
which  almost  impelled  me  to  embrace  the  doc- 
tor. 

"  Keep  cool ;  don't  be  a  fool,  Garland.  Don't  ex- 
pect too  much.  I  fear  there  is  nothing  in  the  book 
that  will  promote  our  inquiries  very  much." 

I  sat  beside  him.  With  eyes  almost  bursting 
from  their  sockets,  we  examined  together  every 
page,  sentence,  letter  and  hieroglyphic  which  the 
book  contained.  Here  was  a  little  note  of  an  inci- 
dent ;  here  a  catalogue  of  camp  rations ;  here  a 
message  to  Captain  Fenlon  which  never  reached  its 
destination. 

This  message  related  minutely  to  the  fate  of  the 
little  company  who  had  volunteered  to  bring  in  the 
pemican  cached  by  the  Nares  expedition.  A  storm 
had  befallen  them.  They  had  lost  their  way.  One 
of  the  party  had  been  frozen   to   death.     Colonel 


JF.AN  GRANT. 


197 


Colonel  VVind- 


ly  he  was  a  very 
you  and  he  were 
3uld  drown  first, 
Id  transport  you 

more  than  their 
ee  what  I  could 
-ch." 

genius  indeed," 
hted  enthusiasm 
Kibrace    the  doc- 

rland.  Don't  ex- 
:hing  in  the  book 
yf  much." 

almost  bursting 
I  together  every 
lyphic  which  the 
e  note  of  an  inci- 
I  rations ;  here  a 
never  reached  its 

o  the  fate  of  the 
jd  to  bring  in  the 
idition.  A  storm 
t  their  way.  One 
»   death.     Colonel 


Windsor  had  had  his  feet  and  legs  frozen  so  that  he 
could  not  walk.  The  third  had  set  off  for  help  and 
never  returned.  Colonel  Windsor  had  had  plenty 
to  cat.  Me  had  taken  refuge  in  the  ice-cavern. 
He  said  nothing  about  his  awful  sufferings.  Quite 
as  a  matter  of  course,  he  informed  Captain  Fenlon 
that  both  his  feet  and  his  right  hand  had  rotted  off, 
but  that  he  meant  to  live  as  long  as  he  could. 

But  this  was  all.  Not  a  woman's  name;  not 
a  word  of  love,  or  farewell,  or  regret,  or  desire,  or 
fear;  not  a  wish  for  safety,  not  a  prayer;  not  a 
man's  name  or  initials  or  address.  He  had  pre- 
served his  mysterious  character  to  the  last. 

On  the  title  page  was  a  large  black  star. 
Above  it  were  written  in  a  bold  hand  "  From  No. 
I,"  and  under  it,  "  To  No.   19." 

I  remembered  at  once  having  observed  the  same 
mark  on  Colonel  Windsor's  bare  breast. 

This  was  our  only  clue.  What  was  its  import? 
We  both  concurred  in  the  opinion  that  it  meant,  if 
anything,  that  Colonel  Windsor  was  a  member  of 
some  secret  organization  whose  talisman  was  a 
black  star,  and  whose  members  were  known  not  by 
their  names,  but  by  numbers  understood  only  by 
fellow-members. 

Dr.  Parks  suggested  that  I  should  pass  among 
the  list  of  survivors  of  the  ill-fated  "  Search  "  under 
an  assumed  name,  so  that  the  members  of  this 
supposed  organization  would  be  led  to  believe  that 


,:J 


198 


JEAN  GRANT. 


I  had  perished  in  the  Northern  seas,  and  would 
possibly  be  thrown  off  their  guard  and  lured  into  a 
fancied  security.  Accordingly,  I  was  announced  as 
Lieutenant  Conroy. 

We  arrived  in  New  York.  We  were  welcomed 
by  the  whole  nation.  Not  for  me,  the  splendid 
naval  demonstration  ;  not  for  me,  the  heavy  line  of 
grim,  slow-moving  men-of-war,  with  gold-clad  offi- 
cers on  their  decks,  and  gallant  tars  saluting  from 
their  riggings,  with  welcomes  thundering  from  their 
mighty  lips;  not  for  me,  the  glorious  strains  of 
"  Home  Sweet  Home ; "  and  "  Home  Again," 
played  with  such  effect  as  to  bring  tears  from  all 
eyes ;  not  for  me,  the  smiles  and  waving  handker- 
chiefs and  thrown  kisses  of  the  fair  daughters  of 
America ;  not  for  .  me,  the  land-procession,  the 
brilliant  banquet,  the  matchless  panegyrics  uttered 
by  the  lips  of  the  most  eloquent  statesmen.  I  saw 
and  heard  as  one  in  a  dream.  I  was  a  stranger  in 
my  own  home.  No  fair  hand  grasped  my  own  and 
welcomed  me  back  again.  No  loving  heart  met  me 
to  soothe  the  fatal  pain  that  preyed  on  my  own. 

The  pomp  and  show  of  public  praise  were  cold, 
empty  forms  which  only  added  to  the  wretchedness 
of  my  life. 

'•  Leonore,  Leonora,"  my  heart  kept  whispering, 
"oh,  my  lost,  my  loved  one,  if  I  could  see  you 
even  for  a  moment ;  if  I  could  hear  you  speak 
one  word  of  encouragement  and  welcpme,  I  should 


r 


JEAN  GRANT. 


t99 


seas,  and  would 
.nd  lured  into  a 
as  announced  as 

:  were  welcomed 
ne,  the  splendid 
he  heavy  line  of 
h  gold-clad  offi- 
rs  saluting  from 
iering  from  their 
)rious  strains  of 
'  Home  Again," 
g  tears  from  all 
waving  handker- 
air  daughters  of 
i-procession,  the 
megyrics  uttered 
;atesmen.  I  saw 
;as  a  stranger  in 
ped  my  own  and 
ing  heart  met  me 
j  on  my  own. 
praise  were  cold, 
the  wretchedness 

kept  whispering, 

I   could   see  you 

hear  you   speak 

■elcpme,  I  should 


be  the  happiest  man  on  earth.  Leonore,  I  love 
you;  death  itself  cannot  quench  my  love;  hard- 
ships  and  sufferings  but  increase  its  potency.  " 
Leonore,  my  love,  I  shall  find  you.  I  have  not 
come  through  all  the  experiences  of  these  long  years 
for  nothing.  I  shall  find  you  yet.  I  shall  find  you 
love  you  and  make  you  my  wife.  God  wills  it,  or  I 
should  have  died  long  ago.     God  wills  it.     I  shall 

find  you."  .  ,     ,  , 

The  turmoil  over,  the  Doctor  and  I  planned  our 
campaign.  We  soon  found  that  there  existed  in 
the  city  a  club  known  as  the  "  Black  Star  League. 
We  set  out  to  find  it,  expecting  that  it  would  be 
located  somewhere  among  the  slums  of  the  city. 
Judge  of  our  surprise,  when  we  discovered  it  to  be 
one  of  the  most  elegantly  and  expensively  furnished 
restaurants  in  the  city,  occupying  a  prominent  place, 
right  in  the  midst  of  the  great  thoroughfare  on  the 
corner  of  Blank  Avenue  and  Old  Street. 

At  first  we  were  afraid  to  connect  our  clue  with 
this  magnificent  establishment.  For  several  days, 
we  watched  the  class  of  persons  who  frequented  it. 
They  were  sports.  We  procured  for  ourselves 
sporting  suits  of  the  most  approved  fashion,  bottle- 
green,  tight  and  conspicuous.  We  completed  our 
attire  with  an  abundance  of  cheap,  flashy  jewelry 
and  the  highest  silk  hats  in  the  trade.  For  a  few 
days,  we  contented  ourselves  with  taking  merely 
a  few  refreshments.     We  became  acquainted  with 


200 


JEAN  GRANT. 


% 


the  attendants.  Next,  we  ventured  to  take  an 
occasional  lunch  in  the  dining  hall,  with  its  mo- 
saic floor,  frescoed  ceiling  and  exquisite  drapery, 
mirrors  and  silver. 

We  were  soon  regular  frequenters  of  the 
place.  We  had  plenty  of  money  and  improved 
every  opportunity  of  showing  it.  There  were 
evidently  a  dozen  or  more  proprietors.  We 
could  learn  nothing  of  what  constituted  member- 
ship. By  this  time,  we  had  concluded  that  it  was  a 
secret  association,  that  the  membership  was  limited, 
and  that  the  proprietors  and  members  were  gam- 
blers. We  often  passed  through  the  dining-room 
into  the  splendidly  equipped  billiard-hall  and  had  a 
game.  To  attract  as  much  attention  as  possible,  we 
played  for  pretty  heavy  stakes.  We  often  pretended 
to  lose  our  tempers.     We  were  good  game. 

Our  hosts  marked  us  for  their  own.  We  played 
with  tuem  for  money  and  lost.  Finally  they  invited 
us  into  a  secret  room,  in  which  a  large  number  of 
small  tables  and  easy  chairs  invited  the  unwary  to  a 
game  of  cards.  We  played  and  drank  night  after 
night  with  varying  results,  on  the  whole,  however, 
losing  pretty  heavily.  Our  host's  affections  were 
commensurate  with  the  depth  of  our  purses.  We 
had  abundance  of  money,  and  so  we  were  the  most 
welcome  guests.  All  the  time  we  had  associated 
with  these  men,  we  never  heard  a  name,  nor  did  they 
inquire  for  ours.     This  increased  our  suspicions. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


set 


ured  to  take  an 
lall,  with  its  mo- 
ixquisite  drapery, 

quenters  of  the 
ey  and  improved 
it.  There  were 
proprietors.  We 
istituted  mcniber- 
uded  that  it  was  a 
rship  was  limited, 
mbers  were  gam- 
i  the  dining-room 
ird-hall  and  had  a 
ion  as  possible,  we 
/e  often  pretended 
>od  game, 
own.  We  played 
inally  they  invited 
a  large  number  of 
d  the  unwary  to  a 
drank  night  after 
e  whole,  however, 
;'s  affections  were 
f  our  purses.  We 
we  were  the  n\ost 
,ve  had  associated 
name,  nor  did  they 
our  suspicions. 


One     evening,    after   the    game    was    over,    we 
sauntered  about  the  room  freely.     At   the   upper 
end  of  the  room,  stood  a  large  table.     We  moved 
towards  it.     In  a  figurative  sense  it  recalled  K,ng 
Arthur's  Sixty  Knights   of   the  Round  Table.     It 
was    surrounded    by    twenty    chairs    which    were 
attached  to  the  floor.      This  council-table  was  of 
mahogany,  inlaid   with   a   star  of   black  marble  m 
front  of  each  chair,  numbered  in  gold  figures  from 
one   to  twenty.     My  heart  bounded   with  sudden 
joy  and  expectation  at  this  sight,  for  now,  beyond 
peradventure   we    were    among    the   comrades   of 
Colonel  Windsor. 

We  were  morally  certain  that  we  were  on  the 
right  trail.  But  to  follow  it  to  ultimate  success 
required  more  patience  and  tact  than  I  possessed. 
I  knew  this.  I  had  less  confidence  than  ever  m 
myself.  For  the  very  joy  which  I  found  awakening 
within  me,  increased  my  impatience  and  serious  y 
interrupted  my  equanimity.  Dr.  Parks  constantly 
cautioned  me  to  be  patient.  He  was  ahvays  a  man 
of  ice. 


y 


5», 
<3t 


> 
!.|i 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Dr.  Parks  found  it  necessary  to  leave  the  city 
for  a  few  days  to  attend  a  meeting  of  Travellers 
and  Geographers  at  Boston.  I  promised  hjm  when 
we  parted  not  to  visit  the  "  Black  Star"  till  he  re- 
turned. But  time  hung  heavily  on  my  hands.  My 
mind  constantly  preoccupied  with  its  one  absorbing 
theme,  refused  to  find  amusement,  interest  or  occu- 
pation in  any  other. 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening,  when,  an  hour  or  so 
after  nightfall,  I  found  myself  sauntering  aimlessly 
along  Blank  Avenue. 

Something  like  instinct  drew  my  steps  toward  the 
••  Black  Star."  I  passed  and  repassed  its  brilliantly 
lighted  windows.  I  heard  the  sound  of  jest  and 
laughter  issuing  from  its  interior.  I  surveyed  with 
more  precision  than  ever  before,  its  massive  propor- 
tions, its  immense  length  and  breadth,  its  towering 
form,  reaching  far  above  the  surrounding  buildings, 
and  the  wealth  of  architectural  skill  and  beauty  lav- 
ished upon  its  imposing  fagades.  Far  up,  it  seemed 
at  the  very  top  of  the  structure,  a  dim,  flickering 
light  strugg.led  through  the  lattice  of  a  small  win- 
dow, the  only  evidence  of  life  in  the  lofty  garret. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


203 


I. 

to  leave  the  city 
ting  of  Travellers 
remised  him  when 
<  Star"  till  he  re- 
n  my  hands.  My 
1  its  one  absorbing 
t,  interest  or  occu- 

sn,  an  hour  or  so 
untering  aimlessly 

y  steps  toward  the 
ssed  its  brilliantly 
sound  of  jest  and 
I  surveyed  with 
ts  massive  propor- 
^adth,  its  towering 
ounding  buildings, 
:ill  and  beauty  lav- 
Far  up,  it  seemed 
!,  a  dim,  flickering 
ce  of  a  small  win- 
the  lofty  garret. 


As  I  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  feeble  rays 
of  light  which  streamed  from  that  solitary  case- 
ment, a  desperate  curiosity  to  see  whdm  or  what 
that  lonely  room  contained,  seized  me. 

On  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  I  formed  a  dar- 
ing resolve.  I  forgot  I  was  alone  and  unaided.  I 
forgot  that  the  odds  were  a  hundred  to  one  against 
me.  I  forgot  all  the  perils  which  my  resolution 
involved.  Something  seemed  to  say  to  me,  that 
the  occuf)ant  of  that  room  was  Leonore  Sherman, 
and  that  was  enough  to  banish  from  my  mind 
every  thought  save  that  of  reaching  her,  of  redeem- 
ing her. 

I  entered  the  "Black  Star  Restaurant."  I 
played  a  game  of  billiards  with  unusual  dash  and 
success.  I  was  soon  in  the  secret  room  sitting 
opposite  "  No  19,"  at  the  council-table,  playing 
ecart^  for  large  stakes.  I  drank  freely,  or  rather  pre- 
tended to  do  so.  I  wanted  to  lose  all  the  money 
I  had  and  feign  drunkenness  as  a  solace  for  my 
heavy  losses.  But  luck  always  favors  a  man  who 
can  be  indifferent.     I  won  everything. 

My  affected  intoxication  increased  somewhat  rap- 
idly, but  my  luck  kept  pace  until  my  pockets  were 
filled  with  crisp  bills  and  I.  O.  U.'s.  The  game 
ceased.  My  companions  were  in  a  state  of  malicious 
indignation.  Their  secret  nods,  winks  and  signals 
betokened  danger  to  me.  But  I  knew  it  was  only 
my  money  they  wanted,  and  by  simulating  a  condi- 


204  JEAN  GRANT. 

tion  of  insensible  inebriation,  I  could  afford  them 
an  easy  opportunity  of  possessing  themselves  of  my 
wealth,  without  the  necessity  of  their  resorting  to 
personal  violence. 

I  leant  forward  above  the  table,  threw  my  head 
on  my  folded  arms,  and  acted,  as  best  I  could,  the 
part  of   a  stupidly  drunk   man.     For   a  time,  mj- 
boisterous  companions  continued  their  play,  then, 
noticing  my  condition,  several  of  them  approached 
me  slapped  me  on  the  back,  shook  me,  atid,  havmg 
convinced  themselves  that   I  was  helplessly  drunk, 
left  me  and  informed  their  comrades  that  there  was 
"  cood  game  about."     Then  the  lights  were  turned 
down,  and  the  members  of  the  Black  Star  League 
assembled   in  silent   conclave   in  that   part  of   the 
room  most  remote  from  me.  • 

Now  and  then,  a  whisper  reached  me,  from  which 
I  gleamed  that  they  meant  to  rob  me.     In  half  an 
hour  I  heard  the  locks  being  fastened.     The  lights 
were  turned   out.     Stealthy  steps  approached   me. 
Half  a  dozen  men,  one  of  whom  carried  a  dark  Ian- 
tern,  surrounded  me.     They  gave  me  a  few  rough 
shakes  and  slaps  to  satisfy  themselves  of  my  utter 
unconsciousness.    One  of  the  men  rifled  my  pockets, 
counted  the   money  on  the  table  before  me.     Nine 
thousand  six  hundred  dollars  !     He  proceeded,  with 
criminal  deliberation,  to  divide  the  booty,  allotting 
to  each  of  his  coadjutors  his  equitable  share  of  the 
inequitable  spoil. 


JEAX  Gh'ANT. 


205 


could  afford  them 

f  themselves  of  my 

their  resorting  to 

lie,  threw  my  head 
s  best  I  could,  the 
For  a  time,  my 
;d  their  play,  then, 
)f  them  approached 
)ok  me,  atid,  having 
as  helplessly  drunk, 
rades  that  there  was 
J  lights  were  turned 

Black  Star  League 
n  that  part  of  the 
« 
:hed  me,  from  which 
rob  me.  In  half  an 
istened.  The  lights 
eps  approached  me. 
m  carried  a  dark  lan- 
ive  me  a  few  rough 
mselves  of  my  utter 
en  rifled  my  pockets, 
»le  before  me.     Nine 

He  proceeded,  with 
;  the  booty,  allotting 
quitable  share  of  the 


Next,  they  carried  me  up  two  flights  of  stairs, 
threw  me  on  a  bed,  turned  the  key  and  left  me  to 
to  my  fate. 

For  hours  I  lay  there  motionless  as  a  corpse, 
almost  afraid  to  breathe,  lest  these  fiends  should 
return  and  complete  their  night's  work  by  taking 
my  life.  Where  I  was,  I  knew  not.  Many  were 
my  conjectures  as  to  what  final  disposal  they  meant 
to  make  of  me. 

All  that  long  night  supreme  silence  seemed  to 
reign.  Not  a  step,  not  a  word  was  to  be  heard. 
At  length,  I  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  removed  my 
shoes  and  lit  a  match.  I  was  in  a  large,  well  fur- 
nished bedroom.  A  lamp  stood  on  a  small  table 
beside  the  bed.  I  lit  it  and  turned  the  light  as  low 
as  possible.  I  tried  the  door  and  found  it  locked. 
For  a  time,  I  contented  myself  with  examining 
closely  every  article  within  my  comfortable  prison. 
Noiselessly,  I  rummaged  the  drawers,  examined 
the  bed-clothes,  the  table  and  chairs,  but  found 
nothing  of  an  unusual  character. 

While  thus  occupied,  I  bore  the  lamp  in  my  left 
hand.  I  was  about  returning  it  to  the  small  circular 
.table,  when  I  discerned,  right  in  the  centre,  a  diminu- 
tive, black  star,  scarcely  an  inch  from  point  to  point, 
and  underneath  it,  in  small  characters,  "  No  19." 
Great  God !  Colonel  Windsor's  room  !  It  was 
here  he  secluded  himself  in  comfort,  wealth  and 
retirement,  all  those  long  years,  whose  every  day 


206 


JEAN  CKAST. 


was   numbered  in   characters  of  fire  on  my  hcart_ 
It  was  here  his  base,  designing  mind  had  contrived 
those  dark  operations   of  viUany  and  cnme  wh.ch 
had  nonphissed  the  combined  vigilance  and  espion- 
age  of    the   continent's   detective   force.      It   was 
here  he  had  matured  the  bloody  project  of  murder- 
ine  poor  George  VVentworth,  and  the  scarcely  less 
heinous  undertaking  of  cajoling  Jean  Grant  into  a 
mock   marriage,  and  of  abducting   Leonora  Sher- 

""  My  blood  ran   cold,  as  the  thoughts  of  all  the 
crime  that  had  been  concocted  within  the  precincts 
of  this  room,  rushed  like  a  horrid  phantasm  through 
■  my  brain.     What  fate  had  brought  me  hither  ? 

1  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  my  pocket  and 
soon  found  one  which  fitted  the  lock  I  drew 
open  the  door,  after  extinguishing  the  light,  and 
looked  out.  All  was  darkness.  To  my  right,  how- 
ever,  a  broad  stairway  leading  to  the  next  flat 
above,  was  rendered  visible  by  a  small  gas  jet 
which  sent  forth  a  most  feeble,  sickly  light. 

I  ascended  the  steps  and  saw  another  flight  lead- 
ing still  higher.     At  the  head  of  this  flight  another 
small  gas  jet  was  burning  dimly.     I  ascended,  and. 
stood  in  a  large,  open  court,  surrounded  by  several 

suites  of  rooms.  ,    ^  „ 

A  wretched  old  woman  instantly  sprang  from  a 
couch,  near  by,  and  uttered  a  loud,  piercing  scream 
of  fear  and  alarm. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


Wf 


c  on  my  heart, 
d  had  contrived 
nd  crime  which 
nice  and  espion- 
force.  It  was 
ojcct  of  murder- 
tlic  scarcely  less 
can  Grant  into  a 
;   Leonore  Sher- 

ughts  of  all  the 
hin  the  precincts 
hantasm  through 

me  hither  ? 

my  pocket  and 
c  lock.  I  drew 
g  the  light,  and 
ro  my  right,  how- 
to   the  next  flat 

a    small  gas  jet 
:kly  light, 
nother  flight  lead- 
this  flight  another 
I  ascended,  and. 
ounded  by  several 


"Hush!  hush!  For  God's  sake,  woman,  keep 
quiet.  I  will  do  you  no  harm.  Speak  low!  Don't 
be  afraid  of  me !  I  am  a  guest  of  the  house,  I  am 
a  member  of  the  club.  Speak  a  word  with  me  and 
I  will  give  you  money  enough  to  make  you  rich, 
rich,  rich,  for  your  life!" 

"  You  must  not  come  here.  Who  sent  you  here  ? 
Go  back,  sir,  go  back,  right  away,  or  I  shall  alarm 
the  house !     Begone!     Begone  !  " 

"One  word,  my  good,  my  kind,  my  gracious 
woman  !  One  word,  and  I  shall  go."  I  put  my 
hand  in  my  pocket,  with  the  intention  of  offermg 
her  a  large  bribe,  but  alas,  my  pockets  were  empty. 
I  snatched  a  valuable  pin  from  my  tie,  drew  a  rmg 
off  my  finger ;  these  with  my  valuable  watch  and 
chain,  I  thrust  into  her  bony  hands. 

"  To-morrow,  to-morrow,  I  shall  give  you  more  ; 
I  shall  give  you  more  gold  than  you  can  hold  in 
your  apron.  Now  listen.  Speak  not!  Listen! 
You  have  a  woman  tinder  your  charge  here,  a  young 
and  very  fair  woman.  How  is  she^  Is  she  living? 
Speak   not;   wait  till  I  hape  done!     Is  she  living? 

Is  she  well?" 

The  woman  was  paralyzed.    She  stood  speech- 
less before  me,  like  a  statue  of  stone. 


itly  sprang  from  a 
d,  piercing  scream 


*Wiw*^i*>**V— *-*«^ 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


ii' 


I 


m 


Ir.    1 


The  gray  light  of  the  morning  was  just  begin- 
ning to  steal  through  the  great,  rich  windows,  anJ. 
fill  the  room  with  vague,  impenetrable  shadows. 
For  a  few  moments,  we  stood  motionless  and 
speechless,  my  overmastering  solicitude  forbidding 
me  to  say  another  word,  and  the  ghost-like  figure 
of  the  woman  remaining  rooted  to  the  floor  by 
the  dangerous  position  into  which  she  had  been 
forced. 

"You  are  wrong,  sir,  you  are  mistaken.  What 
do  you  m.ean  ?  I  am  the  only  woman  here.  Here, 
I  must  not  take  these.  I  dare  not,!  "  she  said, 
reluctantly   offering   me   the   articles   I  had    given 

her. 

"  No ;  I  do  not  want  them  ;  1  do  not  need  them; 
I  have  plenty ;  I  •  am  rich  ;  keep  them,  my  good 
woman.  Wiien  I  shall  come  again,  I  shall  fill 
both  your  hands  with  gold.  But  in  the  name 
of  God,  speak  the  truth.  Where  is  this  beau- 
tiful young  woman.?  I  shall  never  leave  this 
room,  till  I  have  seen  her.  Do  not  trifle  with 
me.  Do  not  speak  falsely.  I  am  desperate ;  I 
shall  see  Leonore   Sherman.     Have   you  a   child. 


MiWlWrWinnillMI 


JEAN  GRANT. 


209 


II.  y 

g  was  just  begin- 
rich  windows,  an  J. 
netrable  shadows. 
I  motionless  and 
icitude  forbidding 
e  ghost-like  figure 
to  the  floor  by 
ich   she   had  been 

mistaken.  What 
am  an  here.  Here, 
s  not,!  "  she  said, 
ides   I  had   given 

do  not  need  them; 
:p  them,  my  good 
again,  I  shall  fill 
But  in  the  name 
here  is    this  beau- 

never  leave  this 
o    not    trifle  with 

am  desperate ;  I 
lave   you  a   child, 


a  daughter  ?  Would  you  like  to  have  her  torn 
from  your  heart,  by  a  band  of  robbers,  and 
chained  in  darkness  and  thraldom  ?  Think,  woman, 
think  what  you  are  doing !  " 

"  Hush !     Some  one  is  coming." 
Footsteps  were  heard  ascending  the  stairs. 
"Oh    sir!"  she  exclaimed   in  tones  of  low,  sup- 
pressed  terror,    "  conceal     yourself,    quick,    quick, 
quick!     They  are  coming,  they  will  kill  me !     Oh, 
for  the  love  of  mercy,  sir,  hide  yourself ! " 

She   pointed    towards  a  room     with   half-open 

door.  ,    .       T   u  J 

With  noiseless  steps,  I  entered  it.  I  had  my 
own  safety  and  interests  to  further  as  well  as  those 
of  this  wrinkled,  wretched  hag.  I  closed  the  door 
and  quietly  secured  the  lock. 

For  a  couple  of  hours,  footsteps  were  to  be 
heard  passing  and  repassing  frequently,  so  that  1 
did  not  dare  to  stir  out  of  my  hiding-place.  Then 
followed  a  long  silence,  during  which,  I  busied  my- 
self formulating  various  schemes  by  which  I  could 
reach  the  heart  of  the  woman  who  kept  watch  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs. 

Suddenly,  I  heard  a  woman's  voice— a  voice  of 
such  strange,  sad  sweetness,  that  its  lowest  tones 
held  me  spellbound— singing  a  song  I  have  never 
forgotten,  a  song  the  rrtemory  of  whose  first  two 
words,  "  No  more,"  even,  as  I  write,  fills  my  heart 
with  indescribable  pain. 
«4 


1 


i:*l. 

im 


210  JEAN  GRANT. 

\  "  No  more  sweet  morning  comes  to  me, 

With  golden  light  and  music  low  ; 
^  All  day,  my  cell  is  dark  as  night ; 

All  day,  my  heart  is  full  of  woe. 

"  When  shall  the  hour  of  freedom  come,  • 

And  my  lost  hope  return  to  me  ? 
Oh,  when  shall  Heaven  hear  my  prayer, 
And  set  me  free,  and  set  me  free  ? " 

When  the  last  line,  with  its  trembling,  soul- 
rapt  appeal,  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  singer,  I  knew, 
beyond  doubt,  that  the  prisoner  whose  forlorn  heart 
thus  poured  out  its  early  plaint,  was  Leonore  Sher- 
man. "  Leonore  !  Leonore  !  you  shall  be  free! 
I  swear  it !  "     I  whispered  to  myself. 

The  song  continued— 

"  Vainly  my  dear  old  mother  yearns 
To  fold  me  to  her  kind,  true  heart ; 
May  God  forgive  the  cruel  hands 
,  That  tore  our  trusting  hearts  apart. 

"  Oh,  gentle  sister,  loved  and  lost, 

Thy  gracious  prayers  ascend  for  me  ; 
Oh,  may  thy  pleading  tears  avail, 
And  set  me  free,  and  set  me  free." 

Never  since  the  world  began,  did  a  song  of 
prayer  rise  from  a  woman's  lips,  with  more  sweet- 
ness, sadness  and  sense  of  need  than  this.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  no  mortal  could  have  sung  so  exquisitely. 
It  was  not  the  words  of  the  lips  ;  not  the  language 
of  the  heart ;  it  was  the  voice  of  a  spotless  soul, 


JEAN  GRANT. 


211 


;s  to  me, 
c  low ; 
jht; 
«voe. 

cm  come, 
)  me  ? 
my  prayer, 
efree?" 

3  trembling,  soul- 
he  singer,  I  knew, 
hose  forlorn  heart 
'as  Leonore  Sher- 
;  shall  be  free! 
elf. 


'earns 
je  heart ; 
ands 
rts  apart. 

lost, 

nd  for  me ; 
ivail, 
ne  free." 

n,  did  a  song  of 
with  more  sweet- 
m  this.  It  seemed 
ung  so  exquisitely. 
;  not  the  language 
of  a,  spotless  soul, 


injured,  pinioned  in  darkness,  yet  conscious  of  its 
own  divine  origin  and  destiny,  the  sound  of  whose 
spiritual  woings,  as  they  beat  against  the  walls  of  its 
prison  in  its  attempts  to  fly  Light-ward,  God-ward, 
ascended  before  Heaven  with  the  sweetness  of 
angelic  adoration. 

Tears  were  bursting  from  my  eyes :  my  heart  was 
palpitating  wildly ;  my  whole  frame  trembled. 

Again  the  soft,  low,  swelling  voice  floated  like  a 
spirit  across  the  lonely,  untenanted  court. 

•'  Behold  a  wandering  pilgrim  moves 

From  place  to  place ;  he  seeks  in  vain 
My  love  that  was  so  freely  given- 
Love  which  he  ne'er  shall  find  again. 

"  Oh,  gentlest,  noblest,  best  of  men  I 
Could  thy  life  buy  my  liberty, 
Thy  love  would  hazard  life's  sweet  hope, 
And  set  me  free,  and  set  me  free." 

The  sound  of  this  melancholy  matin  came  from 
the  remotest  part  of  the  uppermost  flat.  I  marked 
well  the  direction,  and  was  about  to  venture  out.  in 
quest  of  the  singer,  when  heavy  footsteps  ascended 
the  oaken  stairs.  I  retired.  In  a  few  moments 
some  dozen  or  more  men  entered  the  room  adjacent 
to  the  one  I  occupied.  They  spoke  not  a  word 
until  all  were  seated. 

"This    business    must  be    finished,"  said    on^ ; 
"  this  woman  must  be  put  out  of  the  way." 


212 


JEAN  GRANT. 


% 

<  I 


M 

m 


'♦  Yes."  said  a  second,  "  it's  getting  to  be  a  devil- 
ish dangerous  business." 

"  She's  pure  whalebone  ;  she  will  not  surrender," 
added  a  third. 

"  The  thing  has  been  delayed  too  long,"  resumed 
the  first  speaker,  "  No.  19  had  a  foolish  idea  that 
she  would  marry  him  and  so  give  him  control  of 
her  money.     It  was  no  go." 

"No  use  debating,"  chorused  a  new  and  brutal 
voice ;  "  our  way  is  clear.  A  million  isn't  to  be 
fooled  with.  Garland,  he's  dead  ;  Wentworth,  he's 
dead  ;  there  ain't  nobody  now  but  the  old  lady. 
The  matter's  simple.  Make  the  girl  sign  the  deed, 
with  a  revolver  to  her  head.  That  done,  give  her  a 
glass  of  something  that'll  send  her  oflf  easy.  The 
old  woman  can  be  managed.  She  lives  alone.  A 
short  visit  some  night,  a  sort  of  professional  call. 
That'll  settle  her.  Then  sell  the  property 
and    divide    the    money.     How    does    that  strike 

?»f 

"  Very  well,"  responded  a  number  of  voices 
simultaneously. 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  one  in  a  low,  determined 
voice,  "we  can  get  her  money  without  blood. 
Blood  is  a  bad  thing  to  deal  in.  It  sticks.  It 
won't  wash.  Let  us  wait  a  bit.  Let's  g've  the 
young  woman  a  chance  for  her  life." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  No.  7  is  getting  chicken-hearted," 
shouted  one. 


ting  to  be  a  devil- 

11  not  surrender," 

)o  long,"  resumed 
,  foolish  idea  that 
re  him  control  of 

a  new  and  brutal 
illion  isn't  to  be 
;  Wentworth,  he's 
but  the  old  lady, 
girl  sign  the  deed, 
it  done,  give  her  a 
ler  off  easy.  The 
lie  lives  alone.  A 
f  professional  call. 
;11  the  property 
does    that  strike 

[lumber    of    voices 

a  low,  determined 
;y   without    blood. 

in.     It   sticks.     It 
t.    Let's  g've  the 
fe." 
r  chicken-hearted," 


1  *■ 


JEAAT  GRANT. 


21 


"He  always  talks  like  an  angel,  but  acts  like  a 
devil,"  said  another. 

"  Well,"  said  the  brutal  propounder  of  the  plan, 
"  I  believe  in  doing  things  right..   I'm  no  coward." 

"  Nor  am  I,"  responded  No.  7.  with  decision. 
"  I  say  a  man  as  talks  that  way  is  a  coward." 

"  I  say  I  am  not  a  coward." 

"  I  say  you  are." 

"You  lie!" 

Both  men  sprang  to  their  feet.  The  report  of  a 
revolver  rang  out.  A  member  of  the  party  fell 
heavily  to  the  floor. 

"  That  settles  that  question,"  said  the  man  with 
the  coarse  voice. 


I 


1^ 


I. 


^l 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  party,  a  few  minutes  after,  left  the  room 
and  descended  the  stairs.  For  some  time,  I  re- 
mained in  silence.  Soon,  the  low,  moaning  sound  * 
which  came  from  the  room  in  which  the  conspira- 
tors had  assembled  convinced  me  that  the  unfortu- 
nate victim  of  the  short  encounter  lay  there 
dying.  The  agonizing  moans  and  mutterings 
of  this  dying  wretch  went  straight  to  my 
heart. 

But  Leonore !  Leonore !  was  she  not  near  me  ? 
Had  I  not  heard  her  voice  pleading  for  deliverance  ? 
I  more  than  suspected  that  I  was  the  knight  of  her 
old-time  affection  to  whom  she  "had  paid  such  an  elo- 
quent song-tribute.  Now,  that  I  might  see  her,  even 
if  one  short  glance,  one  word  of  recognition  should 
cost  me  my  life,  should  I  not  aim  straight  at  the 
mark  ?  Why  should  I  lose  even  one  precious  mo- 
ment in  consoling  the  dying"  man  ?  Life  was  of  as 
much  value  to  me  as  to  him.  I  was,  even  now,  in 
the  very  jaws  of  death.  What  hope  had  I  that  I 
should  ever  escape  from  the  "  Black  Star  "  alive  ? 
None. 

But  the  inarticulate  appeals  of  a  dying  man  com- 


IV. 

:ter,  left  the  room 
■  some  time,  I  re- 
ow,  moaning  sound 
which  the  conspira- 
le  that  the  unfortu- 
icounter  lay  there 
s  and  mutterings 
straight    to     my 

she  not  near  me? 
ing  for  deliverance  ? 
IS  the  knight  of  her 
id  paid  such  an  elo- 
might  see  her,  even 

recognition  should 
aim  straight  at  the 
n  one  precious  mo- 
n  ?  Life  was  of  as 
I  was,  even  now,  in 

hope  had  I  that  I 
Black  Star"  alive? 

a  dying  man  com- 


JEAN  GRANT. 


215 


mand  the  tenderest  and  most  reverential  sympathy 
of  hearts  much  harder  than  mine.  .     ,.,     , 

This  poor,  dying  wretch  had  lost  his  hfe  by 
speaking  a  word  of  mercy  for  Leonore.  He  had 
showed  that  he  had  yet  alive  in  his  bosom  a  spark 

at  least,  of  manhood.  .  „  j    1 

I  entered  the  room.  What  a  sight!  The  tal.  dark 
man  I  had  so  often  seen  playing  at  the  club,  lay  on 
his  right  side,  in  a  pool  of  blood.  The  fatal  ball 
had  passed  through  his  neck,  severing  the  jugular. 
I  tried  to  stem  the  tide.  It  was  useless.  He 
opened  his  large,  dark  eyes,  now  full  of  fear  and 
supplication,  and  looked  into  mine.  "  What !  you 
here?"  he  muttered  hoarsely  "  I  am  dymg.  Only 
a    minute!      I   liked  you.      Will  you  do    me   a 

favor?" 

"  Yes ;  what  is  it  ?  "  , 

His  hand  clutched  mine  firmly,  expressive  of  his 
gratitude  and  confidence. 

"There's  a  woman  in  the  garret  of  this  house-a 
prisoner-an  heiress  They  have  been  making  her 
believe  she's  insane-beautiful-lovely-^young. 
To-night-to-night-they  will  kill  her  for  her 
money-they  are  murderers  and  robbers  For 
months  I  have  tried  to  get  her  out  of  their  clutches 
-have  saved  her  thus  far-from  insult-outrage- 
death!  She  is  still  pure  in  life-as  she  is  in  soul. 
Save  her-save  her !  I  loved  her-I  loved  Leonore 
Sherman!      Save    her-to-night-to-mght !      Save 


r- 


216 


y£AJV  GRANT. 


i: 


I 


her — tell  her — Harry  Nellis  died  to  save  her.     Key 
— key — promise  me,  promise — " 

"  I  promise  you,  brave  fellow ;  I  promise  you 
before  God  that  Leonore  shall  be  saved  this  day  or 
I  shall  follow  you  into  eternity." 

Tears  wore  gushing  from  my  eyes.  I  felt  a  pain 
at  my  heart  which  almost  killed  me.  His  head 
rested  on  my  arm.  I  was  kneeling  above  him.  I 
took  a  large  key  from  his  left  hand.  With  his  right, 
he  gave  mine  a  short,  convulsive  squeeze.  A  calm 
smile  stole  over  his  pale  face.  "  Leonore,  Leo- 
nore ! "  he  whispered,  in  delight,  as  the  lovely 
prisoner  appeared  in  the  sweet,  swift  dream  which 
carried  him  from  life  to  death. 

It  was  not  long  before  I  found  an  opportunity  of 
moving  out  into  the  open  court.  Another  flight  of 
stairs  had  yet  to  be  climbed,  before  I  reached  the 
garret.  This  means  of  ascent  I  was  glad  to  find 
unguarded.  I  approached  the  corner  of  the  garret 
from  which  I  had  judged  the  morning  song  to  have 
proceeded.  The  end  remote  from  the  street  was 
partitioned  of?  from  the  main  body  of  the  flat.  A 
door  stood  open.  I  entered  it  as  quietly  as  pos- 
sible, and  found  that  a  hall  ran  completely  around 
the  inner  room  which,  as  far  as  I  could  perceive, 
had  no  means  of  entrance.  I  examined  this  inner 
partition  with  the  keenest  scrutiny,  but  could  find 
neither  door  nor  means  of  ingress  of  any  sort.  The 
key  which  I  had  received  from  the  murdered  man 


-  lawyjMiMinriimiww 


fetilifflWiiiifr- 


■jiBBTOBmTBaSiiaiiiimSiBM 


to  save  her.     Key 

■ ;   I  promise  you 
;  saved  this  day  or 

yes.  I  felt  a  pain 
d  me.  His  head 
ing  above  him.  I 
i.  With  his  right, 
squeeze.  A  calm 
"  Leonore,  Leo- 
it,  as  the  lovely 
wift  dream  which 

an  opportunity  of 
Another  flight  of 
fore  I  reached  the 
was  glad  to  find 
rner  of  the  garret 
ning  song  to  have 
m  the  street  was 
ly  of  the  flat.  A 
is  quietly  as  pos- 
lompletely  around 
I  could  perceive, 
amined  this  inner 
ny,  but  could  find 
of  any  sort.  The 
he  murdered  man 


/EAAT  GRANT. 


^ 


was  in  my  hand.     I  was  prepared  to  enter  that  room 
at  all  hazards.     I  believe  I  should  have  entered  it 
though  I  knew  it  were  the  gateway  to  perdition. 
But  of  what  use  was  my  key  ?    There  was  no  door. 
Then  I  heard  a  sound  within,  as  of  soft  footsteps 
moving    about   the    sealed   apartment.     Who   can 
describe     that     moment!      Leonore's     footsteps! 
Leonore!     I  had  sought  her  all  those  weary,  pain- 
ful  years,  and,  at  last,  I  was  so  near  her!     Great 
happiness  of  the  true  sort  rises  to  religion.     Mine 
did.     I   clasped   my  hands   and   said,   "Father,    1 
thank  Thee."     I  could  say  no  more.     My  very  soul 
went  out  in  those  few  words. 

The  soft  footsteps  continued  to  move  about  the 
room.    My  patience  was  sorely  taxed     But  every 
part  of   my  nature  had   been  disciplined     What 
could  I  do  ?    I  would  call  her  name  in  a  low  tone. 
She    could  hear    me.     She  would    recognize  my 
voice.    She  might  tell  me  how  the  room  could  be 
Intered.     The  tord  was  on  my  lips     I  could  not 
utter  it.     I  tried  in  vain.    Again  and  again     The 
word  "Leonore"  was  too  sacred  to  be  spoken  m 
that  terrible  haunt  of  sin  and  crime.    A^^^  o"ce  1 
heard  a  woman's  voice,  the  same  voice  I  had  heard 
in  the  morning,  singing  a  low,  sweet,  tender  refrain 
such  as  a  woman  sings  above  a  sleeping  child. 

"  Come  Death  I    Thou  art  my  kindest  friend, 
And  lay  me  in  some  valley  green, 
Where  clover  and  sweet  violets  bloom, 
Where  smiles  the  sun  with  warming  sheen. 


MW.' 


3S.5i^Ii:i^.:^v-^-^:iS 


l\ 


1« 


J 


2l8  JEAN  GRANT. 

There,  shall  I  fear  no  tyrant's  wrath  ; 
^  There,  shall  the  soft  winds  tenderly 

l^ull  me  to  sleep.     Kind  spirit,  come 
And  set  me  free,  and  set  me  free." 

Before  the  last  note  had  died  in  my  ears,  a  loud 
noise  attracted  my  attention.  It  was  some  one 
entering  the  room. 

The  hurried,  crowded  scenes  to  which  I  have 
briefly  alluded  in  the  last  few  paragraphs,  filled  the 
terrible  hours  of  that  memorable  day ;  and  the 
evening  twilight  was  now  folding  its  deepening  and 
uncertain  shades  around  the  objects  in  the  narrow 
hall  in  which  I  stood.  I  took  advantage  of  this  to 
venture  sulificiently  near  the  new  visitor  to  observe 
how  the  room  was  entered.  He  touched  an  electric 
spring  in  the  outer  partition,  when,  at  once,  the 
large,  closely-fitted  door  rose  automatically  to  a 
height  of  some  six  or  seven  feet,  exposing  an  inner 
wall  of  strong  iron  bars. 

Into  the  ponderous  iron  door  a  huge  key  was 
thrust.  The  door  was  pushed  open.  The  visitor 
again  touched  a  spring  in  the  iron  wall  and  the 
wooden  side-wall  descended  to  its  place.  The 
visitor  at  once  began  conversation  with  the  inmate. 

"Good  evening.  Miss  Maynard.  How  are  you 
feeling  this  evening?  Better  I  hope,"  said  he, 
with  grave  politeness. 

"  Thank  you,  Doctor,"  replied  Leonore,  "  I  am 
as  well  as  usual.     Did  you  not  promise  yesterday 


JEAN  GRANT. 


m 


irrath  ; 
lerly 
come 
e." 

in  my  ears,  a  loud 
It   was   some  one 

to  which  I  have 
ragraphs,  filled  the 
ble  day ;  and  the 
;  its  deepening  and 
jects  in  the  narrow 
[vantage  of  this  to 
'  visitor  to  observe 
touched  an  electric 
ivhen,  at  once,  the 
automatically  to  a 

exposing  an  inner 

r  a  huge  key  was 
open.  The  visitor 
iron  wall  and  the 
)  its  place.  The 
n  with  the  inmate, 
rd.  How  are  you 
I   hope,"   said    he, 

1    Leonore,  "  I  am 
promise  yesterday 


that  you  would  not  again  call  mc  Miss  Maynatd? 
My  name  is  Leonore  Sherman." 

"Oh    yes;  I    had   quite    forgotten.     You    must 
excuse  my  bad   memory,"  said   the   doctor,   "you 
see,   my   poor   child,   the   nature   of   your   terrible 
malady  is  such  that  any  unusual  excitement   may 
prove  instantly  fatal   to   you.     I  assure   you,  that 
your   true  name   is  Miss  Maynard,  but  to  humor 
you,  I  shall  be   most  happy  to  call  you  any  name 
you  may  choose  for   yourself.     Your  trouble  often 
takes  a  turn  of   that  kind.     I   have  known   many 
persons  whose   minds   had   been   affected    just   as 
yours   is;   and    I    have  invariably  had   occasion  to 
observe   that  the   most   striking   symptoms  of   the 
disease    manifest   themselves   in   this   way.     Some 
imagine  themselves   Queen  Victoria,   or  Abraham 
Lincoln,  or  General  Grant  or  the  Czar  of    Russia. 
Others  fancy  themselves  great  actors,— Mod jeska  or 
Terry,  Booth  or  Irving.     Still   your  case  is  by  no 
means  incurable.     If  you  will  try  to  compose  your- 
self, and  quietly  obey  your  guardians,  I  think  you 
will,  before  long,  be  able  to  return  to  your  home  in 
Boston." 

"  My  home  is  not  in  Boston.  Why  do  you  try 
to  deceive  me?  I  am  not  a  lunatic.  I  know 
it.  You  know  it.  For  years,  you  have  visited  me 
in  this  horrible  place  almost  daily;  and  for  all  those 
years,  you  have  been  acting  a  lie,  a  cruel,  infamous 
lie.    Are  you  not  wearied  of  deceit?    You  know 


220  yA/^A'  GKANT. 

I  am  not  insane.  You  know  I  hav  been  confined 
in  this  cell  by  a  confederacy  of  wicked  men,  who 
wish  to  drive  mc  mad  by  the  infliction  of  every 
species  of  torture.  You  know  that  you  arc  the 
only  person  who  can  free  mc  from  this  awful  condi- 
tion. Surely,  by  this  time,  you  know  that  you 
cannot  make  me  believe  that  I  am  mad." 

"Ah,  my  dear  lady,"  he  continued,  "that  is  the 
worst  feature  of  your  case.  Those  who  are  insane 
never  know  it,  never  believe  it,  never  admit  it. 
They  always  believe  themselves  especially  wise, 
discerning,  and  inspired  to  lead  and  guide  others. 
If  you  would  only  once  admit  that  you  arc  insane, 
the  chances  of  your  recovery  would  be  immensely 

increased." 

"Admit  that  I  am  insane?    Why  should  I?     Put 
me  to  any  test  you   will.     My   memory   is  good. 
Can  I  not  reason  as  well  as  others  who  are  sane  ? 
Try  me.     I  have  five  fingers  on  each  hand.     I  can 
read   and  write  as  well   as   I   could   formerly.     At 
least,  I  believe  I  can  do  so,  though  you  have  never 
let  me  see  book  or  pen  since  I  entered  this  place. 
I   have    counted   the  days  of    my  imprisonment. 
They  are   fifteen   hundred,  less  fourteen ;  without 
aid  of  any  kind,  I  have  kept  track  of  the  days, 
weeks  and  years  of  my  bondage.    To^ay  is  Tues- 
day,  the  twenty-first  day  of  July,  A.  D.  i8— .     Next 
Monday  will  be  my  twenty-seventh  birthday.     Are 
not  these  dates  correct?    Could  an  insane  person 


lavt   been  confined 

wicked  men,  who 

infliction  of  every 

that   you   are  the 

iw  this  awful  condi- 

u   know   that  you 

in  mad." 

inued,  "that  is  the 
)se  who  are  insane 
t,  never  admit  it. 
es  especially  wise, 
and  guide  others, 
that  you  are  insane, 
ould  be  immensely 

Vhy  should  I  ?  Put 
memory  is  good, 
liers  who  are  sane? 
I  each  hand.  I  can 
;ould  formerly.  At 
ugh  you  have  never 
[  entered  this  place, 
my  imprisonment. 
J  fourteen ;  without 
track  of  the  days, 
je.  To^iay  is  Tues- 
y,  A.  D.  i8— .  Next 
2nth  birthday.  Are 
Id  an  insane  person 


JEAN  GRANT  22  \ 

do  this?     Tut  me   to   any   test  you   chouse.     Oh, 
Doctor,  for  the   thousandth    time,  I  pray   you    to 
have    pity   on    mc.     Deliver   me    from    this   place. 
The  world  will  honor  you  for  it.     1  will  j^ive  you 
all   I  have,  a  ransom  for   my  liberty.     Tiicsc  men 
mean  to  take  my  life,  in  order  to  obtain  my  prop- 
erty.    God  knows  I  would  freely  give  it  all  to  them 
if  they  would  let  mc  free.     But  they  are  afraid  to 
give   me   my  liberty,   lest  their   crimes  should   be 
brought   home   to  them.     Unless  you  delivL-r  me, 
I  shall  never  again  see  the  light  of  heaven.     These 
men,  when   the  proper  time  comes,  mean  to  take 
my  life.     Oh,  Doctor,  take  pity  on  me.     Remem- 
ber, I  am  a  woman  and  you,  a  man.     Devise  some 
means   whereby  I   may  escape   from  these  wicked 

tyrants." 

'•  Ha,  ha!  I  fear  yc  r  case  is  getting  more  hope- 
less. These  men,  tyi  .nts !  These  men  who  have 
cared  for  you,  and  paid  your  doctor-bills  for  many 
years,  without  having  received  a  single  cent,  or  a 
day's  service  from  you  !  You  are  very  much  worse 
to-day.  I  must  give  you  stronger  medicine.  These 
men,   tyrants!     They    are    your    guardians,    your 

friends." 

"  Don't  pollute  the  name  of  friendship,  by  callmg 
them  my  friends.  Would  n-.y  friends  leave  me  to 
pine  in  this  wretched,  filthy  dungeon,  all  these  long 
years  without  a  cause?  Would  my  friends  have, 
forcibly,  and  for  the  love  of  lucre,  dragged  me  away 


J22 


JEAN  GRANT. 


without  occasion,  from  home,  from  my   aged  and 
widowed  mother,  from  my  kinsmen  and  friends,  from 
society,  and  from  the  blessed  light  of  day  ?     Would 
my  friends  have  starved  me,  and  chained  me,  and 
drugged  me  in  their  desire  to  drive  me  to  madness? 
Would  my  friends  have  made  me  dwell  in  a  place 
like  this  where  my  companions  are  criminals  of  the 
basest  type ;  where   my  betrayers  have  constituted 
themselves  my  guardians ;  where  the  light  of  day  is 
never  permitted  to  enter ;  where  my  youth  has  be- 
come   wrinkled  age  and  decrepitude ;  my  splendid 
fortune  my  unpardonable  crime ;  my  life,  a  very  hell  ? 
"  It  is  over  four  years  since  I  was  smuggled  into 
this  dark  cell.     During  that  time,  I  have  not  heard 
the  voice  of  music  or  of  mirth  )  I  have  not  seen  the 
familiar  face   of  a  friend  or  acquaintance;  I  have 
not  beheld  the  blessed  sun,  nor  the  silvery  moon 
moving  across   the  brow  of   night,  nor  the  merry 
stars  twinkling  in   the   blue   heavens;  I   have   not 
been  allowed  to  leave   this   dungeon   one   solitary 
time  ;  I  have  been  forbidden  what  the  poorest  and 
most  despised  slave  is  allowed,  to  breathe  the  pure, 
sweet  air  which  blows  from  the  mountain  and  flow- 
ery valley  ;  this  poisonous  air  is  killing  me  slowly 

but  surely. 

"Oh,  Doctor,  I  appeal  to  you,  by  the  love 
you  bear  to  your  wife,  your  mother,  your  sister 
or  your  child,  deliver  me  from  the  yoke  of  this 
bondage.     Vou  are  not  one  of  this  wicked   gang. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


223 


om  my   aged  and 
:n  and  friends,  from 
It  of  day?     Would 
\  chained  me,  and 
ve  me  to  madness? 
le  dwell  in  a  place 
.re  criminals  of  the 
s  have  constituted 
the  light  of  day  is 
my  youth  has  be- 
tude ;  my  splendid 
my  life,  a  very  hell  ? 
was  smuggled  into 
:,  I  have  not  heard 
[  have  not  seen  the 
ijuaintance ;  I  have 
r  the  silvery  moon 
jht,  nor  the  merry 
avens;  I   have   not 
igeon   one   solitary 
liat  the  poorest  and 
o  breathe  the  pure, 
mountain  and  flow- 
s  killing  me  slowly 

you,  by  the  love 
mother,  your  sister 
Ti  the  yoke  of  this 

this  wicked   gang. 


You  cannot  be.  You  look  like  a  kind  man.  You 
know  I  am  not  a  lunatic.  You  know  that  such  sur- 
roundings as  these,  would  have  long  ago  converted 
me  into  a  raving  maniac,  were  it  not  for  the  extra- 
ordinary strength  and  endurance  of  my  body  and 
mind. 

"  Oh.  sir,  as  you  hope  to  obtain  mercy  from  your 
Heavenly  Father,  have  mercy  on  me.  Think  of 
my  terrible  sufferings.  Think  of  my  awful  fate  ; 
alone,  friendless,  helpless,  utterly  in  the  hands  of 
my  cruel  betrayers.  Oh,  sir,  have  pity  on  me  ! 
Have  mercy  on  me !  Deliver  me !  God  will  bless 
you  for  it.  I  shall  be  your  friend  forever.  I 
shall  make  you  so  rich  that  you  will  not  need 
to  depend  on  these  wicked  men  for  your  prac- 
tice. You  and  yours  shall  ever  be  my  first  thought, 
my  tenderest  care.  Oh,  Doctor,  will  you  not  help 
me?  Oh,  I  know  you  will.  You  cannot  be  one  of 
my  captors.     You  cannot   be  so   bad.    You  will 

help  me ! " 

"  Now,  my  dear  Miss  Maynard,  do  try  to  com- 
pose yourself.  You  are  very  much  worse  this 
evening.  I  must  insist  that  you  shall  not  indulge 
in  such  foolish  speeches.  I  am  here  to  help  you. 
Have  I  not  been  your  friend  since  ever  you  knew 
me  ?  Has  not  your  life  been  sustained  by  my  skill 
and  care  ?    Have  I  not — ." 

"  No,  it  has  not ;  I  needed  no  medicine.  I  knew 
that,  and  to  be  candid  with  you.  Doctor,  I  have 


«;49£i»a;^'%>^ 


224 


JEAN  GRANT. 


never  taken   a   single   dose  of   your  medicine.     I 
knew    what    I    was    kept    here    for-my    money. 
These  men  have  been  trying  to  drive  me  to  mad- 
ness.    I  suspected  that  your  medicine  was  to  fur- 
ther  that  end.     I  know  I  shall  never  again  be  at 
liberty.     I  know  I  shall  never  leave  this  cell,  alive. 
I  know  I  must  die  by  cruel  and  unjust  hands.     I 
am  prepared.     I  shall  speak  the  truth.     You,  sir, 
are  the  worst  of  these  evil  men.     I  know  it.     You 
are  not  a  doctor ;  you  are  a  designing,  untruthful 
man.     None  of  them  know  ijiy  wretched  condition 
as  well  as  you  do.     To  none  of  them  have  I  ap- 
pealed  so  often  in  vain.     It  has  been  in  your  power 
to  succor  me,  but  you  have  a  heart  of  stone.     My 
indescribable  bodily  suffering  and  anguish  of  mind, 
during   those   four  awful   years,   my  oft    repeated 
appeals  for  help,  for  deliverance,  for  kindness,  my 
entreaties,    my    prayers,    my    tears,    would    have 
touched  the  heart  of  a  Nero  ;   yet,  you   have  re- 
mained indifferent  to  them  all.     You  may  kill  me. 
I   shall  tell  you  the  truth.    You  are  not  a  man. 
You  are  destitute  of  kindness  and  pity.     You  have 
no   humanity.     You   have   spoken   words   of    pre- 
tended sympathy.     Why  ?    To  drive  me  to  despe- 
ration.   You  have  prescribed  for  me.    Why?    To 
kill   me.    Why  not  kill   me  with  your  revolver? 
Would  it  not  be  true  kindness  and  mercy?     I  have 
never  tasted  your  drugs.     Not   that   life   has   any 
value  for  me  in  this  place,  but  that  I  resolved  not 


your  medicine.     I 
;    for — my    money. 
)  drive  me  to  mad- 
ledicine  was  to  fur- 
never  again  be  at 
;ave  this  cell,  alive, 
d  unjust  hands.     I 
le  truth.     You,  sir, 
,.     I  know  it.    You 
esigning,  untruthful 
wretched  condition 
3f  them  have  I  ap- 
been  in  your  power 
leart  of  stone.     My 
nd  anguish  of  mind, 
s,   my  oft    repeated 
:e,  for  kindness,  my 
tears,    would    have 
;   yet,  you   have  re- 
You  may  kill  me. 
'^ou  are  not  a  man. 
and  pity.     You  have 
)ken   words   of    pre- 
)  drive  me  to  despe- 
for  me.    Why?    To 
vith  your  revolver? 
and  mercy?     I  have 
t   that   life   has   any 
t  that  I  resolved  not 


JEAN  GRANT. 


Wl^ 


to  die  by  your  slow  poison.     Have  you  the  spirit  of 
a  man  in  you  ?    I  shall  test  it.    Listen.     I  ask  you 
now,  here,  to  deliver  me  or  kill  me.     I  am  ready  to 
die.     I   shall    accept    either    alternative  with    un- 
feigned gratitude.      Which   shall   it  be?      Speak. 
You  may  well  tremble..   I  tell  you,  God  shall  pun- 
ish you  for  your  callous,  sinful  treatment  of  me. 
Look  what  your  plotting  has  done   for  me.     My 
hair  is  white  as  snow.    My  cheeks  are  wrinkled,  my 
eyes  sunken.    I  look  like  a  woman  of  eighty,  and 
you    have    been    my  physician!     You    have    not 
allowed  me  enough  food  for  a  child.    Look  at  my 
bony  fingers.    Look  at  my  wasted  form.     I   have 
not  had  a  pen  in  my  hand,  or  read  a  book  or  news- 
paper for  four  years.    My  request  for  a  Bible  you 
have  treated,  like  all  my  other  petitions,  with  mock- 
ing disdain.    Oh,  God,  merciful  and  loving !     Why 
hast  Thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

She  ceased.  No  answer.  This  unexpected  out- 
burst of  truthful  indignation  and  scorn  had  evi- 
dently made  his  coward's  heart  quail. 

I  could  scarcely  restrain  myself  from  throwing 
open  the  doors  and  strangling  this  fiend.  But,  no. 
Patience !  The  noise  would  call  others.  I  should 
be  slain  and  all  would  be  lost.  Patience!  He 
would  soon  go.  Then,  I  should  reach  her,  clasp 
her  to  my  breast  for  a  solemn,  joyful,  silent  mo- 
ment. Then  I  should  take  her  in  my  arms  like 
a  child  and  rush  down  the  stairs  at  all  hazards. 

But  this  was  not  to  be.  The  plot  thickened. 
Another  member  of  the  "  Black  League  "  entered 

the  room. 

"How's  your  patient  this  evening,  Doctor?    he 

inquired. 

"  Very  much  worse,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Ah,  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  the  new-comer  with 
an  air  of  severe  indifference.  "  We  must  get  her 
out  of  this  place.     This  air  does  not  agree  with 

her." 

"  Oh,  sir,  let  me  free ! "  she  pleaded. 

"  That's  exactly  what  brought  me  here,  madam. 


is  unexpected  out- 

ind  scorn  had  evi- 

uail. 

elf  from  throwing 

liis  fiend.    But,  no. 

others.  I  should 
it.  Patience !  He 
d   reach  her,  clasp 

joyful,  silent   mo- 
r  in  my  arms  like 
at  all  hazards, 
he  plot  thickened, 
k  League  "  entered 

ming,  Doctor?"  he 

reply. 

the  new-comer  with 
"We  must  get  her 
oes  not  agree  with 

leaded. 

It  me  here,  madam. 


JEAN  GRANT. 


227 


Please  sign  this  paper  and  you  shall  have  your  lib- 

erty. 

•'  What  is  it  ?  "  Leonore  enquired. 

"  It  is  a  paper  which  all  the  inmates  of  this  place 
sign  before  getting  their  discharge." 

"  Will  you  please  read  it  ?  "  Leonore  asked  timidly. 

"No;  it's  too  long.  You  need  have  no  fear. 
Sign  it,  please,  without  delay." 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  it,  before  I  sign  it  ?  " 

"  No  ;  we  cannot  do  so.  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  sign  it." 

•'  I  should  like  to  read  it  or  have  it  read.  It 
might  be  my  own  death  warrant ;  or  it  might  be  a 
gift  of  all  I  own  to  some  one  I  hate." 

"  Well,  and  even  if  it  were,  what  of  it  ?  Have 
you  not  offered  all  you  have,  for  liberty?  " 

"  Yes ;  give  me  some  assurance  of  my  liberty, 
and  I  shall  gladly  give  you  all  I  own.  But  if  I 
sign  this  document,  giving  you  my  fortune,  how  do 
I  know  that  I  am  to  be  set  free  ?  I  would  still  be 
in  your  power." 

"  Will  you,  or  will  you  not,  sign  this  paper  f  " 

"  No ;  ten  thousand  times,  no.  You  mean  to  get 
my  signature  to  aid  you  in  the  recovery  of  my 
possessions,  and  then  put  an  end  to  my  life.  You 
shall  not  have  it.  I  am  ready  for  death.  But  I 
shall  not  sign." 

A  short,  sharp  whistle  was  sounded,  and  clumsy 
steps  approached. 


.=.>im 


iijimilpjl  ^ 


^^  JEAN  GRANT. 

A  third  man  entered  the  apartment. 

"  Aha  !  the  gal's  a  bit  obstinate  is  she?  "  said  the 
murderer  of  Harry  Nellis. 

A  terrible,  creeping  dread  came  upon  me.  The 
situation  was  indeed  critical.  I  had  already 
learned  the  savage  decision  of  this  rough  character. 
I  knew  the  object  of  his  visit  to  Leonore's  cell.  I 
had  but  a  short  time  for  contemplation. 

"  This'U  make  her  more  pliable.  This  old  friend 
of  mine  has  persuaded   lots  of  gals  against  thar 

wills." 

I  crept  to  the  spring  in  the  wall. 

"  Neow,  my  gentle  duck,  take  this  pen  in  yer 
hand.  Yer  can  sign  this  or  not  as  yer  likes.  I  will 
give  yer  two  minutes.  If  it  isn't  signed  then,  I 
will  blow  yer  brains  eout— that's  all." 

''No,  no\  I  shall  not  sign!  I  know  you 
mean  to  kill  me  whether  I  shall  sign  it  or  not.  I 
know  my  time  has  come !  I  am  ready  to  die !  I 
shall  never  sign  it!  But  you  will  give  me  ten 
minutes  to  pray  for  you  all— to  pray  that  God  may 
forgive  you   for  the   great  sin   you   are  about  to 

commit." 

'•  Herry  up,  gal.  I've  had  my  say.  Half  yer 
time's  gone.     I  never  use  blank  cartridge,     Herry 

up,  gal." 

The  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  came  from  the 
stairway.  The  whole  gang  was  coming.  The 
moment  had  come.    God  be  praised  !     I  would  die 


JEAN  GRANT. 


229 


snt. 

is  she?"  said  the 

upon  me.    The 
I     had    already 

rough  character, 
^eonore's  cell.  I 
ition. 

This  old  friend 
gals  against  thar 


;  this  pen  in  yer 
1  yer  likes.  I  will 
't  signed  then,  I 
.11." 

!  I  know  you 
sign  it  or  not.  I 
ready  to  die!  I 
ivill  give  me  ten 
ray  that  God  may 
)^ou   are  about  to 

\y  say.  Half  yer 
cartridge.     Kerry 

!ps  came  from  the 
as  coming.  The 
ised  !     I  would  die 


with  Leonorc  !     1  touched  the  spring.     Noiselessly, 
the  wooden  wall  arose.     The  iron  door  was  open. 
What    a   sight!     A   woman    in   rags,   kneehng    m 
prayer;    her    hands,   clasped     and     uplifted      her 
wasted,     death-pale    face,    glowing    with    radiant 
worship  ;  the  once  fair  neck,  now  smeared  with  dirt, 
swelling  tremulously  under  the  terrible  strain;  the 
fine,  beautiful  lips   moving  in   words,  so  low   and 
fervent  that  they  were  only  audible  to  the  ear  of 
the  Omnipotent :  her  snow-white  hair,  coiling  about 
her   neck   and   shoulders,  and  lying  like  a  cast-of^ 
shroud  in   masses   on  the  floor!     A  coarse,  brutal 
man  standing  by  her  side,  holding  the  muzzle  of  a 
revolver  close  to  her  head  ! 

Quick  as  a  flash,  I  threw  myself  against  the 
would-be  murderer  ;  wrenched  the  weapon  from  h.s 
grasp ;  pointed  it  at  his  head,  and  fired  !  He  fed  to 
?he  floor,  like  a  log.  "  Villains,  devils  !^'  I  shouted, 
while  the  other  two  fiends  crouched,  m  terror, 
before  me.     "  Leonore !  come !  "  ^      ,    ^ 

With  a  wild  scream  of  joy,  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 
I  caught  her  by  the  hand ;  snatched  her  from 
the  dungeon  ;  drew  the  door  shut  and  turned  the 
key.  leaving  the    three  wretches,   locked    in    the 

"•MrM«r/"  '^  Leonore!"  were  the  only  words 
spoken.  We  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs.  A 
dozen  or  more  men  came  rushing  up.  I  drew  my 
revolver  and  was  about  to  fire,  when  the  faint  gas- 


230 


JEAN  GRANT. 


light  revealed  the  features  of  the  leader — Dr.  Parks! 
And  a  posse  of  police  !    We  were  saved  ! 

Dr.  Parks,  on  his  return  from  Boston,  learned 
that  I  had  been  missing  for  a  day  or  two.  He  at 
once  suspected  foul  play,  and,  going  to  the  "  Black 
Star "  early  that  morning,  had  heard  the  report  of 
the  fatal  weapon  upstairs.  This  served  to  confirm 
his  suspicions.  He  at  once  set  about  organizing  a 
body  of  police  strong  enough  to  capture  all  the 
occupants  of  the  place.  They  had  finished  hand- 
cuffing the  men  down-stairs,  when  the  report  of  the 
revolver  invited  them  above.  Had  they  not  madp 
such  a  timely  visit,  there  is  little  doubt  that  I 
should  have  failed  in  my  long  task,  and  that 
Leonore  Sherman  and  myself  should  have 
perished. 


eader — Dr.  Parks! 

saved ! 

I  Boston,  learned 
/  or  two.  He  at 
ing  to  the  "  Black 
:ard  the  report  of 
served  to  confirm 
bout  organizing  a 
o  capture  all  the 
lad  finished  hand- 

the  report  of  the 
ad  they  not  madp 
ttle  doubt  that  I 
;  task,  and  that 
[f     should      have 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  dark  plot  had,  at  last,  been  fathomed. 
The  whole  gang  was  sentenced  to  penal  servitude 
for  life,  and  its  effects  handed  over  to  the  Treas- 
ury. I  had  not  killed  the  murderous  rascal  at 
whom   I   fired,  the  bullet  having  glanced  off  his 

thick  skull.  _ 

Poor  Leonore  !  she  was  in  a  truly  pitiable  plight. 
It  took  months  of  careful  nursing  to  restore  her  to 
health  and  strength. 

I  shall  not  even  attempt  to  describe  the  meeting 
between  Leonore  and  her  mother.  The  pent-up 
feelings  of  maternal  and  filial  love  which  found  vent 
in  broken  words,  and  choking  sobs,  and  exclama- 
tions  of  tearful  joy,  when  the  broken-hearted 
mother,  once  again  pressed  her  long  lost  child  to 
her  heart,  are  beyond  human  power  to  depict. 

Now  that  my  life's  mission  had  been  fulfilled,  I 
seemed  ready  to  die.  Had  I  anything  more  to  live 
for  ?  My  hand  had  lost  its  cunning.  My  constitu- 
tion was  hopelessly  wrecked.  I  was  yet  a  compara 
tiVely  young  man,  but  the  withering  age  of  pnva 
tions  and  disappointments  had  set  its  seal  upon  me. 
My  hair  was  as  white  as  poor  Leonore's.     Now  thaii. 


232 


JEAtf  GRANT. 


the  long,  severe  strain,  under  which  my  nerves  had 
been  stimulated  to  superhuman  energy,  was  re- 
moved, a  terrible  prostrating  reaction  set  in,  which 
made  my  life  a  continual  burden.  During  Leo- 
nore's  convalescence,  I  used  to  visit  her  daily, 
walking  with  the  aid  of  a  cane,  for  my  health  was 
such  as  to  cause  my  physician  grave  alarm. 

On  these  occasions,  I  was  always  welcomed  by 
Leonore  and  her  mother,  with  the  most  cordial  and 
unaffected  warmth.  Indeed  it  seemed  as  if  they 
spent  much  of  their  time,  in  devising  means  of  ex- 
pressing their  gratitude. 

As  Leonore's  strength  increased,  my  daily  visita- 
tions became  correspondingly  longer.  I  had,  long 
ago,  learned  how  passionately  I  loved  Leonore.  It 
was  these  visits  which  now  kept  me  alive.  How 
lovely  she  was  becoming!  E.'ch  day,  as  her  lost 
vivacity  and  hope  returned,  I  could  see  her  becom- 
ing more  and  more  beautiful.  The  long  white  hair 
seemed  to  bring  out  with  amazing  effect,  the  perfect 
loveliness  of  the  youthful  face. 

I  was  waiting  patiently,  though  painfully,  for  her 
complete  recovery.  Would  she  love  me  ?  When 
she  was  lost,  I  fancied  that  if  I  could  only  be  the 
means  of  her  redemption,  her  love  would  be  the 
certain  reward  of  my  diligence  and  bravery.  Now 
that  she  was  found,  and  growing  day  by  day  more 
like  her  old  self,  my  chances  seemed  to  become  less, 
and  my  misery  greater. 


JU. 


h  my  nerves  had 
energy,  was  re- 
tion  set  in,  which 
:n.  During  Leo- 
visit  her  daily, 
or  my  health  was 
i^e  alarm. 

ays  welcomed  by 
;  most  cordial  and 
;emed  as  if  they 
sing  means  of  ex- 

d,  my  daily  visita- 
ger.  I  had,  long 
)ved  Leonore.  It 
me  alive.  How 
1  day,  as  her  lost 
,d  see  her  becom- 
le  long  white  hair 
;  effect,  the  perfect 

painfully,  for  her 
love  me  ?  When 
could  only  be  the 
ove  would  be  the 
id  bravery.     Now 

day  by  day  more 
ed  to  become  less, 


JEAN  GRANT. 


233 


The  dreamy,  distant  look  in  her  eyes  seemed  to 
speak  of  some  great  unspoken  love  buried  in  the 
past.  I  knew  she  had  loved  George  Wentworth. 
1  could  not  expect  such  love  as  she  bore  to 
him.  We  had  both  lavished  in  vain  that 
strong  first   love   that  never  comes  back    to  the 

heart. 

I   resolved  in  no  way  to  take  advantage  of  my 
position.     Leonore's  happiness  was  dear  to  me.    I 
would  have  scorned  to  have  demanded  her  heart  as 
the  price  of  my  services  and  sacrifices  on  her  behalf. 
"  Is  it   not   the  bounden  duty  of  a  true  man  to 
stand  up   as  the   liberator,    guardian   and    friend 
of  woman?  "     I  avoided,  as  well  as  I  could,  show- 
ing my  great  love  for  Leonore.     I  wanted  to  learn 
if    she   loved  me.      I    wanted   to    watch  her  re- 
turning life,  and  see   if   it   spontaneously   turned 
towards  me.    On  this  point,  I  could  not  satisfy  my- 
self     One  day,  my  spirits  rose  to  bliss ;  the  next, 
they  went  down  to  despair.     She  was  as  affection- 
ate  toward  me  as  any  woman  dare  be  toward  a  man 
not  her  husband ;  but  there  were  so  many  other 
sources,  besides  love,  from  which  such  actions  might 
flov/     We  were   old  friends  and   schoolmates.     1 
had  been   as    a  brother  to  Leonore,  ever    since 
George  Wentworth's  death.     More  than  this,  I  had, 
at  great  danger  and  cost,  rescued  her  from  death 
and  dishonor.     How  could  she  help  being  kind  and 
thankful  ? 


iMHi 


234 


JRAN  GHANT. 


At  last,  Leonore  was  perfectly  well.  I  spent 
most  of  my  time  with  her  now. 

I  resolved  to  put  my  doubts  at  rest.  I  would 
ask  Leonore  for  her  hand  and  heart.  But  it  was  no 
easy  task.  A  hundred  times  I  attempted  it,  and  as 
often  turned  my  conversation  aside  to  some  other 
subject.  It  seemed  unfair,  if  not  positively  cruel. 
It  looked  like  tying  a  person's  hands,  and  then  ask- 
ing him  to  fight  me.  She  was  not  in  a  position  of 
independence.  Days  went  by.  My  wavering  pur- 
poses never  seemed  to  come  to  a  settled  decision. 

We  were  sitting  alone  in  the  parlor  one  evening, 
in  October. 

"  What  shall  I  play  for  you  Arthur  ? "  she 
asked,  rising  to  her  feet,  and  putting  her  soft  palm 
on  my  cheek.  "  You  seem  so  sad  to-night.  Don't 
look  so  downcast.  Cheer  up,  Arthur.  We  have 
both  endured  so  many  real  hardships,  that  we 
should  never  create  imaginary  ones.  Let  me  sing 
you  something  cheerful." 

She  sat  down  before  the  piano  and  dashed  of?  in 
an  airy,  graceful,  girlish  fashion,  Alice  Carey's 
pretty  lines — 

"  Oh,  don't  be  sorrowful,  darling, 
And  don't  be  sorrowful,  pray, 
Taking  the  year  together,  my  dear. 
There  isn't  more  night  than  day." 

"What  next?"  she  asked,  turning  towards  me 
with  queenly  face  radiant  with  smiles. 


y  well.     I   spent 

It  rest.  I  would 
rt.  But  it  was  no 
empted  it,  and  as 
de  to  some  other 
:  positively  cruel, 
lids,  and  then  ask- 
t  in  a  position  of 
My  wavering  pur- 
iettled  decision, 
irlor  one  evening, 

J  Arthur  ? "  she 
ing  her  soft  palm 
I  to-night.  Don't 
•thur.  We  have 
irdships,  that  we 
es.     Let  me  sing 

and  dashed  off  in 
n,   Alice    Carey's 


ing, 
'ray, 
ly  dear, 
an  day." 

ning  towards  me 
iles. 


/EAJV  GRANT. 


235 


"  Anything,  anything  you  may  do,  or  say,  or  sing, 
or  play,  will  make  me  happy  to-night,  since  you  urc 
happy,"  I  replied,  feeling  truly  happy  to  see  Leo- 
nore  so  much  like  her  charming  self  again.  "  T.eo- 
nore,  I  never  thought  I  should  see  you  so  cheerful 
and  buoyant  as  you  arc  to-night.  It  makes  mc  feel 
better  than  I  have  for  years." 

"  Ah,"  she  replied,  "  only  for  the  faith,  love  and 
courage  of  my  hero,  I  should  never  have  had  all 
these  delights.  Deprived  of  them  so  long,  I  now 
enjoy  them  tenfold.  How  different  to-night  is, 
from  the  time  when  you  first  heard  me  sing  this ! 

"  Behold  a  wandering  pilgrim  moves 

From  place  to  place  ;  he  seeks,  in  vain, 
My  love  that  was  so  freely  given- 
Love  that  he  ne'er  shall  know  again. 

"  Oh,  gentlest,  noblest,  best  of  men, 
Could  thy  life  buy  my  liberty, 
Thy  love  would  hazard  life's  sweet  hope 
And  set  me  free,  and  set  me  free." 

"  Yes,  Leonore,  matters  looked  very  serious  that 
morning.     That  was  an  eventful  day." 

"  That  was  the  day  of  my  second  birth.  I  shall 
keep  it  sacred  every  year  of  my  life.  And  I  shall 
always  want  to  have  you  with  me  on  that  day,  so 
that  I  can  look  on  the  brave  man  who  saved  me." 

"  Thank  you,  Leonore.  These  are  dear  wor  s  to 
me.  I  only  did  my  duty.  But-but-may  I  ask 
you— ask  you  a  question,  Leonore  ?  " 


.-*- 


236 


JEAN  GRANT. 


"Why,  yes,  Arthur,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  To  whom  did  you  refer,  in  that  verse  you  have 
just  sung?  " 

She  blushed  a  deep  crimson.  Her  head  drooped, 
and  she  made  no  reply.  I  felt  provoked.  I  fully 
believed  now  that  the  words  were  not  addressed  to 
me.  My  heart  went  down  to  the  abyss  of  disap- 
pointment. 

"  Pardon  me,  Leonore,  I  should  not  have  asked 
you  that  question.  You  will  make  some  allowance 
for  my  abruptness. 

"  I  took  her  hands  in  mine.  I  drew  her  close 
to  me  and  said,  "  Leonore  !  Leonore  !  I  am  miser- 
able.   Will  you  make  me  happy  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  in  my  power,"  she  replied. 

"  It  is  ;  it  is  in  your  power.  But  do  not  make  me 
happy  by  making  yourself  otherwise.  Leonore, 
you  know  me.  I  am  nothing  now  but  the  wreck 
of  a  man.  I  am  prematurely  old  ;  my  fortune  does 
not  amount  to  what  would  buy  me  a  burial  plot ; 
my  spirits  are  inclined  to  be  gloomy  and  morose ; 
my  health  is  very  unsatisfactory ;  I  have  neither 
trade  nor  profession;  I  am  a  gentleman  pauper. 
You  know  also,  Leoncre,  my  darling,  that  I  have  a 
kind  disposition  ;  that  I  would  rather  endure  afflic- 
tion than  see  others  afflicted ;  that  I  have  a  fair 
education ;  that  I  have  a  heart  that  loves  honor  and 
contemns  meanness.  Now  darling,  I  want  you  to 
forget  that  I  was  your  friend  long  ago ;  that  I  often 


?" 

at  verse  you  have 

Her  head  drooped, 
provoked.  I  fully 
e  not  addressed  to 
he  abyss  of  disap- 


Id  not  have  asked 
ke  some  allowance 

I  drew  her  close 
more  !  I  am  miser- 
?•• 

slied. 

lut  do  not  make  me 
lerwise.  Leonore, 
low  but  the  wreck 
1 ;  my  fortune  does 

me  a  burial  plot ; 
oomy  and  morose ; 
y ;  I  have  neither 
gentleman  pauper, 
rling,  that  I  have  a 
ather  endure  afflic- 
that  I  have  a  fair 
hat  loves  honor  and 
ing,  I  want  you  to 
g  ago ;  that  I  often 


JEAN  GRANT. 


237 


counselled  your  mother  and  you,  when  you  were  m 
trouble.  I  want  you  to  forget  that  I  have  sought 
you  out  and  saved  you.  I  want  you  to  forget  al 
that  I  have  ever  done  for  you— and  tell  me,  te.l 
me,  Leonore,  my  love,  did  you-can  you-do  yot' 
—will  you  love  me  and  be  my  wife  ?  " 

In   another   moment,    she   was   sobbing    on   m. 
cheek,  with  her  arms  clasped  closely  around  my 

neck.  . 

"  Arthur,  I  have  loved  you  for  years.  You  have 
made  me  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world." 

I  clasped  her  to  my  heart,  and  the  first  time 
for  twelve  years,  I  knew  what  joy  and  happmess 

meant. 

On  the  New  Year's  Day  following^  Leonore  be- 
came my  wife. 

We  went  to  Europe  for  two  years,  and  returned 
with  our  health  greatly  recuperated. 

Our  united  efforts  to  discover  Jean,  had  so  far 
proved  unavailing.  Dr.  Parks  was  growing  mto 
a  fine  city  practice.  We  had  almost  decided  that 
Jean  was  dead,  but  Dr.  Parks  never  gave  up  hope. 
An  exceedingly  life-like  oil-painting  of  Jean  hung 
above  the  mantle  in  his  library.  He  cherished  no 
new  affections.  He  spent  many  of  his  evenings  at 
Mrs.  Sherman's.  He  was  a  true  gentleman  at  heart, 
and  we  were  greatly  attached  to  him. 
'  On  our  return  to  New  York,  we  were  welcomed 
by  many  friends.     Mrs.  Sherman  and  Dr.  Parks  en- 


-±^ 


238 


JEAN  GRANT. 


tered  the  carriage  with  us.  On  our  way  to  our 
elegant  new  home  overlooking  Central  Park  our 
carriage  struck  a  pretty  little  news  girl,  breaking 
her  arm.  I  sprang  out  of  the  vehicle  and  picked 
her  up,  a  poorly-clad,  poorly-fed,  but  fine-featured 
little  waif.  We  drove  to  Dr.  Parks'  surgery,  only 
a  few  blocks  away,  and  had  her  arm  dressed.  I 
waited  until  the  operation  was  over,  carried  her 
into  the  carriage,  with  the  intention  of  taking  her 
home,  and  leaving  enough  money  to  keep  the 
little  thing  in  food  and  clothing  until  she  got  better. 

"  What's  your  address,  my  child,  where  do  you 
live?"    I  asked  her. 

"  29  Bleak  Street,  sir." 

I  gave  the  driver  the  aHL'-'ss,  and  entered  the 
carriage. 

"  What  is  your  name,  m>  '  .  ci  ar?"  asked  Mrs. 
Sherman. 

"  Lena,  ma'am,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Lena  what,  my  pet  ?  " 

"•Lena  Windsor." 

We  looked  at  each  other. 

"  What  is  your  father's  name  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Mamma  will  not  tell  me  his 
name." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Mamma  says  he  is  dead." 

"  Who  buys  your  clothes  and  food,  my  dear?  " 

"Mamma;  I  earn  the  money  selling  papers;  I 


our  way  to  our 
Central  Park  our 
ws  girl,  breaking 
:hicle  and  picked 

but  fine-featured 
rks'  surgery,  only 

arm  dressed.  I 
over,  carried  her 
ion  of  taking  her 
ney  to  keep  the 
itil  she  got  better. 
Id,  where  do  you 


and  entered  the 


ar?"  asked  Mrs. 


11  not  tell  me  his 


le  is  dead." 
•od,  my  dear?  " 
selling  papers;  I 


JEAN  GRANT. 


239 


take  it  home  and  give  it  to  mamma,  and  she  buys 
everything  with  it." 

"  Does  your  mamma  not  earn  any  money?  " 
"  No ;  my  mamma  is  sick  all  the  time.    The  doc- 
tor says  she  will  soon  die,  and  then  I  shall  have  no 
mamma  and  no  home,"  and  the  child  burst   into 

tears. 

"  Don't  cry,  dear,  don't  cry  ;  we  shall  be  good  to 
you,  and  give  you  a  home,"  said  Leonore  in  her 
tenderest  voice.    We  were  all  too  much  absorbed  in 
thought  to  speak  during  the  next  few  minutes.    In- 
voluntarily, I  looked  towards  Dr.  Parks ;  for  a  mo- 
ment his  face  was  deadly  pale.    Then  the  flush  of 
a  great  joy  seemed  to  brighten  his  features.     His 
eyes  flashed  triumphantly.     I  had  never  seen  this 
man  of  iron  moved  till  now.    It  was  wonderful. 
He  seemed  almost  transfigured.    We  sat  in  silence. 
When  the  carriage  stopped  before  a  small  frame 
house,  scarcely  ten  feet  square,  I  lifted  the  child 
out  and  carried  her  in,  followed  by  Leonore  and 
her  mother  and  Dr.  Parks.    Our  fears  were  too  well 
founded;  there  lay  poor  Jean, wasted  away  to  a 
skeleton.    She  was  dying.    In  a  moment,  we  had 
all  kissed  her,   and  were  bending  above  her,  in 
tears.      She  opened  her  eyes  and   recognized  u.s. 
She  could  not  speak,  but  whispered,  "  Forgive ! " 

For  a  brief  moment,  she  rallied.  Dr.  Parks  flew 
to  the  nearest  drug-store.  Taking  Leonore's  hand 
she  placed  it  in  mine,  and  holding  them  together, 


340 


JEAN  GRANT. 


whispered    much  louder    than   before,  "Forgive! 
Forgive  !     My  child  !  " 

Leonore  stooped  and  kissed  her  dying  sister,  say- 
ing, "  I  shall  be  her  mother.  I  shall  be  Lena's 
mother." 

A  smile  of  placid  peace  and  joy  overspread  Jean's 
features.  She  sank  into  a  stupo'  like  death. 
Dr.  Parks,  terribly  excited,  entered  the  hovel, 
opened  the  narrow  windows  to  let  in  the  air,  ad- 
ministered restoratives.  Her  pulse  was  still  quick 
with  life.  We  all  stood  back,  moved  to  pity  by  the 
agony  on  the  man's  face.  He  held  her  hand  in  his. 
He  smoothed  her  poor  pinched  brows  with  his 
hand.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  wasted  features. 
Mute,  tender  affection  was  expressed  by  his 
every  attitude  and  gesture.  In  a  few  moments  she 
revived.  She  looked  at  him  in  wonder.  I  went 
near  and  said:  "Dr.  Parks,  Jean,  who  was  your 
friend  in  London."  "Oh,  thanks,  thanks,"  she 
sighed,  and  tried  to  smile. 

Leonore  and  I  have  enjoyed  an  ideal  wedded  life. 
No  woman  could  have  a  tenderer  heart  or  a  more 
queenly  disposition.  Her  own  unspeakable  suffer- 
ings have  rendered  her  naturally  warm  and  gener- 
ous heart  magnetic  to  the  slightest  manifestations 
of  pain  or  misfortune  in  others.  Her  hand  is  ever 
open  ;  her  feet  are  swift  to  bear  the  message  of 
help  and  joy  to  the  sick  and  the  poor ;  her  heart  is 
ever  reaching  out  in  humane  sympathy  for  the  bur- 


;fore,  "  Forgive ! 

dying  sister,  say- 
^all  be  Lena's 

)verspread  Jean's 
po'  like  death, 
ered  the  hovel, 
et  in  the  air,  ad- 
se  was  still  quick 
ed  to  pity  by  the 
■i  her  hand  in  his. 
brows  with  his 
r  wasted  features, 
cpressed  by  his 
few  moments  she 
wonder.  I  went 
J,  who  w£s  your 
iks,   thanks,"  she 

ideal  wedded  life, 
r  heart  or  a  more 
nspeakable  suffer- 
warm  and  gener- 
;st  manifestations 
Her  hand  is  ever 
r  the  message  of 
poor ;  her  heart  is 
pathy  for  the  bur- 


J£AJ\r  GRANT. 


241 


dened  and  downcast.  But  amidst  all  her  labors  of 
love  and  duty,  I  am  not  neglected.  No  woman 
ever  graced  a  home  or  delighted  the  heart  of  a  hus- 
band, with  a  more  even  and  unaffected  display  of 
gentleness  and  love.  Our  elegant  home  is  only  a 
slight  external  type  of  the  peace  and  contentment 
that  preside  within. 

We  spend  our  winters  in  Washington  where  it 
is  my  honest  pride  to  serve  my  country  as  Con- 
gressman, and  where  Leonore,  uniting  her  hospi- 
tality, her  humanity  and  her  affability,  shines,  at 
once,  as  the  queen  of  society,  philanthropy  and 

beauty. 

Dr.  Parks  enjoys  one  of  the  largest  practices 
in  New  York,  and  has  also  become  a  famous  con- 
tributor to  the  literatuVe  of  science  and  exploration. 
By  his  nursing,  by  his  love,  more  than  by  his  medi- 
cine, he  won  Jean  back  to  life,  and  she  is  now  his 

happy  wife. 

Joss,  the  brave  Innuit  who  saved  our  lives  so 
often,  while  we  voyaged  on  the  ice-floe,  I  educated 
for  the  ministery.  He  is  now  conducting  successful 
missionary  work,  among  his  fellow-natives  in  the 
bleak  North. 

Magnificently  elaborate  marbles  mark  the  sleep- 
ing-places of  George  Wentworth  and  Harry  Nellis. 
Leonore  and  I  often  visit  these  sacred  spots  to 
see  that  the  flowers  we  planted  there  are  kept  in 
order ;  and  I  have  often  on  these  occasions,  kissed 

t6 


242 


JEAN  GRANT. 


the  falling  tears  from  Leonore's  eyes,  as  I  said  to 
her,  "  Those  are  gracious  tears,  Leonore ;  but  let 
us  forget  the  dark  past,  my  darling,  and  make  the 
happy  present  the  promise  of  the  happier  future." 


THE  END. 


Philosophy   of   Words 


A  rOVULAm  IMTBOBVOTIOM  TO  TBB 

SCIENCE    OF    LANGUAGE. 


eyes,  as  I  said  to 
Leonore;  but  let 
ng,  and  make  the 
happier  future." 


By  FREDERIC   QARLiANDA,  Ph.D. 

Professor  of  English  and  Anglo-Saxon  in  the  University 

of  Rome,  Italy. 

ia«w.     Cloth.    Price,  $1.50. 

SUMMARY. 

I.    Introduction.    H.    Sounds  and  Language.    HI.    The  English 

LangUagO—HODHEHOLD  WORDS— OHUBOH  WORDS— W0ED8  OF  SOCIETY— POLIT- 
ICAL WORDS.  IV.  Comparative  Grammar.  V.  Outlines  of  the  History 
of  the  Science  of  Language.  VI.  The  question  of  the  Origin  of  Lan- 
guage. Vn.  Comparative  Mythology.  VHI.  Languages  and  Races 
—Local  and  Family  Names.    IX.  Language  and  Education. 

It  is  the  only  work  which  explains  in  a  reaUy  popular  way  the  latest 
results  of  the  Science  of  Language. 

Max  Mullui  »ayt : 
I  read  it  with  much  interest,  and  recommended  it  to  the  young  a-en  at  Oxford. 

From  R.  H.  Stoddabt,  in  the  Mah.  and  EvxNiNa  Exphms. 
It  iB  not  extravagant  to  aay  that  The  Philosophy  of  Words,  by  Frederic  Garlanda. 
Ph.D..  readi  Uke  a  ramawe.  The  manifest  nature  of  the  author,  at  tbe  same  tune 
picturesque  and  rigidly  logical,  appeals  through  the  pages  of  his  book  aUke  to  the 
casual  reader  and  to  the  learned  philologist,  and  the  great  number  of  people  who 
read  a  work  like  this  cannot  fail  to  be  attracted  at  the  beginning,  interested  through- 
out, and  weU  informed  at  the  end  of  it.  He  beUeves  in  the  great  future  of  the 
EngliBh  tongue,  while  deploring  its  chaotic  speUing.  He  enters  a  novel  plea  for  a 
newmodeof  dictionary  making.  HeMhwhat  language  Jew*  Chrut  »poke  The 
Philosophy  of  Words  ia  pre-minentlv  a  volume  far  the  Ubrary  table  and  for  the 
pocket  of  an  habUuai  reader.  A  vast  amount  of  information  and  reading,  a  practical 
andiotimate  knowledge  of  the  classic  and  modem  tongues,  and  a  marked  onginahty 
of  thought,  combine  to  make  this  book  of  univenal  interest  and  eterUng  reorth. 
The  author  oalla  it  "a  poputar  introduction  to  the  science  of  language,"  and  in  that 
field  it  is  probably  unrAwriM. 


The  Fortunes  of  Words. 


Uniform  with  the  Philosophy  of  Words. 

Bt  FRBDEBIO  OARLANDA,  Ph.  D. 


Cloth,  12mo. 


Price,  $1.B0. 


"An  exceedingly  interesting  book  to  the  student  of  the  English 
language.  The  author's  style  is  clear  and  entertaining,  and  as  for  the 
matter  of  the  book,  the  subjects  of  the  following  letters  will  give  the 
reader  a  fair  idea  of  it:  I.  Science  of  Language;  11.  Etymology  and 
History  of  Words;  IV.  The  Idea  of  Boot;  YII.  Changes  in  Personal 
and  Local  names :  VUI.  History  and  Oonneotion  of  Familiar  Words; 
XII.  Development  of  Ethical  Feelings  studied  in  Words;  XV.  Super- 
stitions  of  Language;  XVII.  Slang— its  Merits  and  Demerits.  There 
are  in  all  20  letters,  and  together  they  make  an  excellent  book.  The 
make-up  of  the  volume  is  all  that  can  be  desired." — Michigan  School 
Moderator. 

T/u  Ohurehman,  New  York. 

These  letters  carry  the  reader  through  a  richly  varied  panoramio  sketch  of  philo- 
logic  suggestion;  in  torn  instructive,  diverting  and  plentifully  chequered  with 
surprises. 

EdueaUon,  Boiton. 

Sturpaises  in  interet^  and  worth  the  author's  earlier  work,  if  saoh  a  thing  is 
posaible. 

The  Post,  PUtuburgh,  Pa. 

In  the  letter  on  "  Slang,"  there  is  a  great  amount  of  hard  common  sense,  demand' 
ing  a  recognition  of  the  fact  that  language  is  the  creation  and  the  property  of  the 
people  and  not  of  the  academies. 

The  Star,  New  York. 
Packed  with  information  concerning  the  history  and  evolntion  of  words. 

The  School  BulleUn,  N.  Y. 
Qarlanda's  '*  Fortunes  of  Words,"  like  the  same  author's  '*  Philosophy  of  Words," 
is  not  only  useful,  but  entertaining.    It  is  in  the  form  of  letters  to  a  Ukdy,  and  if  the 
lady  had  good  taste,  she  read  them  through. 

Albany  Pres$. 
Both  the  casual  reader  and  the  learned  philologist  will  be  interested  and  informed 
by  a  perusal  of  this  scholarly  work. 

The  Pilot,  BofUm. 
Being  presented  in  the  attractive  form  of  a  series  of  letters  to  a  lady,  it  is  divested 
of  all  dafavm  or  pedantry,  but  is  none  the  leas  exact  on  that  aooonnt. 
The  Leader  and  Herald,  Cleveland. 
The  author  is  a  philologist  of  the  first  tank,  and  brings  to  his  task  the  results  of 
the  widest  investigation  in  the  science.    Bat  the  main  cause  of  his  success  is  that 
he  has  made  his  work  attractive  to  the  general  reader. 

Oommereial  Oaeette,  OincinmUi. 

Prof.  Oarlanda  concludes  his  book  of  sprightly  learning  with  a  consideration  of 
why  words  change  their  meaning,  and  with  a  plea  for  the  better  and  more  expreaaive 
kind  of  colloquialisms. 

It  is  attractive  to  the  degree  of  fascination.— rA«  Wilminatonian. 


Words. 

ly  of  Words. 

Ph.D. 

Pice,  $1.B0. 

student  of  the  English 
^rtaining,  and  as  for  the 
ing  letters  will  give  the 
tge;  n.  Etymology  and 
\I.  Changes  in  Personal 
don  of  Familiar  Words; 
1  in  Words;  XV.  Super 
\a  and  Demerits.  There 
an  excellent  book.  The 
red." — Michigan  School 


1  panonunio  aketob  of  philo- 
1  plentifally  chaquered  wiUi 


lier  work,  if  raoh  a  thing  is 

Pa. 

hard  oommon  aeiue,  demand' 

ion  and  the  property  of  the 


eTolotioD  of  worda. 

r. 

lor's  '*  Philosophy  of  Words," 
of  letters  to  a  lady,  and  if  the 


111  be  interested  and  informed 


letters  to  a  lady,  it  is  divested 
a  that  aooonnt. 

tkmd. 

igs  to  his  task  the  resnlts  of 

t  cause  of  his  suooess  is  that 

uM. 

ming  with  a  consideration  of 

lie  better  and  more  expressive 

ilmingtonian. 


TRANSLATION    OF    CAESAR 


Parallel  Edition  of  the  Classics. 


THE  FIRST  FOUR   BOOKS 

Caesar's  Commentaries   on  the 
Gallic  War. 

OONSISTINO  OP  THE  ORIGINAL  AND  TRANSLATION 
ARRANGED  ON  OPPOSITE  PAGES. 

12mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $1.00 


In  editing  this  series,  it  is  not  intended  to  do  away  with  the  need  of 
appUcalion  and  study  on  the  part  of  the  student,  but  to  rendec  such 
assistance  as  shaU  be  a  source  of  satisfaction  and  encouragement  to 
him. 

The  convenience  of  the  arrangement  adopted,  both  to  the  teacher 
and  student,  cannot  be  overestimated.  The  reader  need  not  use  the 
translation  until  he  has  exhausted  aU  reasonable  efforts  to  interpret 
the  original  himself,  and  then,  without  the  least  trouble,  he  can  verify 
his  own  rendering,  or  correct  his  errors. 

The  exceedingly  vicious  system  of  changing  the  order  of  the  Latin 
words,  peculiar  to  interlinear  translations,  finds  no  place  here ;  while 
the  Latin  text  adopted,  is  that  now  most  generally  approved. 

Other  Latin  authors  will  be  issued  in  similar  style  with  as  much 
expedition  as  is  consistent  with  good  work. 


"  The  Honors  of  the  Empire  State 

in  the 

War  of  the  Rebellion." 

Large  Vlnio,     Cloth.    416  pp. 

It  is  a  beautiful  volume,  and  w  of  interest  to  all.  It  conveys  a 
better  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  work  done  by  the  Citizens  and 
Soldiers  of  the  State  of  New  York  during  the  period  of  our  Civil  War, 
than  has  hitherto  been  placed  before  the  public. 

The  participators  in  that  great  struggle  will  find  an  eloquent 
account  of  the  aid  offered  to  the  Union  by  every  branch  of  profession 
and  labor,  while  the  children  of  those  days  will  gather  from  its  pages 
a  just  appreciation  of  the  immensity  of  their  fathers'  efforts  to  preserve 
for  their  children  what  their  parents  and  grandparents  had  gained  for 
them. 

The  price  of  the  volume  is  $2.50.  It  will  be  forwarded  postpaid  to 
any  address,  on  receipt  of  that  amount,  by  the  publishers. 

The  follomng  testimonials  afford  further  explanation: 
From  the  Critic,  New  York. 
"It  is  a  book  which  every  public  library  in  the  State  of 
New  York  should  possess.  Probably  no  other  State  sacri- 
ficed more  freely  her  resources  in  blood  and  treasure,  brains 
and  energy,  for  the  preesrvation  of  the  Union.  In  terse  and 
eloquent  chapters  the  story  of  New  York's  part  in  every  line 
of  endeavor  is  told." 


Empire  State 


ellion." 


ipp. 


est  to  all.    It  conveys  a 
lone  by  the  CitizenB  and 
period  of  our  Civil  War, 
ia 

>  will  find  an  eloquent 
ery  branch  of  profession 
rill  gather  from  its  pages 
athers'  efforts  to  preserve 
ndparents  had  gained  for 

i>e  forwarded  postpaid  to 
le  publishers. 

ixplanation: 
York. 

ibrary  in  the  State  of 
no  other  State  sacri- 
3d  and  treasure,  brains 
e  Union.  In  terse  and 
ork's  part  in  every  line 


Three  Books  in  Paper  Covers. 

JEAN  GRANT. 

A  NOVEL. 

By   ARCHIBALD   MoAT.PlNK   TAYLOR. 

I  amo.    Paper  Cover*.    Price,  60  oente. 

A  story  of  sustained  and  powerful  interest  in  which  the  plot 
is  well  conceived  and  cleverly  developed.  Not  the  least 
important  feature  is  the  very  skillful  treatment  of  the  mysterious 
individuality  of  Col.  Windsor. 

CLIO:  A  CHILD  OF  FATE. 

By    MISS   t2Ll,A   M.   POW^KLL. 
l2mo.    Paper  Oovere.    Price,  BO  rente. 

Many  dramatic  situaiions  are  developed  in  the  course  of  the 
story,  and  uie  inter,  of  the  reader  retamed  t.  the  end. 
The  author  is  a  native  of  th  South,  and  gives  promise  of 
further  excellent  work. 

"In  the  portraiture  of  claructer  Miss  Powell  exhibits  rare 
discrimination.  N  >  -  ly  in  the  striV  -  presentation  of  the 
heroine  does  she  ;  no-*  the  true  artr  t..  gift,  but  some  of  the 
characters  are  as  si  arply  Jrawn  as  Flora  Mclvonn  ^  WaveHey^ ^ 

GREATER  AMERICA. 

HITS  AND  HINTS. 
^ORKIGN   RE8IDKNT. 
Paper  Cover*.    Price,  50  cents. 

«  The  book  is  a  breezy  discussion  of  live  questions  of  land, 
labor,  socialism,  tariffs,  and  things  which  are  uppermost  in  the 
p;iblic  mind  just  now."— ^^^  Critic. 

F>ir  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on 
lece-       jf  the  price  by 

A.  LOVELL  &  CO., 

■pulilisVxors, 

No.  3  B.  14th  Street.  New  York. 


By 
l2mo. 


7  65^ 


i 


mammmmmm 


